Inverse
by General San3
Summary: After his encounter with Darth Vader on Bespin, Luke must accept the knowledge that his father is a Sith Lord. On the other end of the spectrum, an Imperial officer dreams of a past that never was, and a future that never can be.
1. Prologue: Darkness and Light

Prologue

_Throughout the galaxy, as directed by the simple order of things, an endless battle of light against dark rages on. This clear-cut battle of nature_ _- used in many an illustration - has always been, and always will be. It cannot be otherwise, because they are opposites and must always battle for control. One may seem to triumph over the other for a time, but domination can never be fully achieved—there will always be some of the other._

Somewhere, near the edge of an immense spiral galaxy, a small, brown planet glowed under the light of a binary sun system. The suns guided the planet in its long journey through space, and baked its surface until the only lifeforms that could survive on the surface were as tough, hardy, and pitiless as the planet itself. The planet was called _Gala'shesh_ by its most ancient inhabitants, but was known as Tatooine on census records - when a census bothered to mention it at all.

The peoples of Tatooine had been in a constant state of upheaval ever since the first starship had entered the dusty atmosphere. First, the conqueror had overthrown the indigenous tribes, casting many of them into the deep desert and treating the few that remained as a subject race. And these newcomers had brought with them many things - new diseases, technology . . . slavery. Even the Jawas, the lowly scum, traders, thieves, wandering gypsies of the desert, looked with pity at the bent, scarred backs of the slaves, their blank eyes, and the way there never seemed to be any slaves older than a few dozen years of age.

The Hutts were still the overlords on Tatooine at that time. Never the most friendly of creatures at the best of times, the dry desert air dried out their moist, spongy skin, aggravated their enormous eyes, and made them more irritable than ever. Thus, their slaves were even more scarred, bent, and fearful than the common lot.

One of these slaves was new to Gardulla the Hutt's palace, a young woman of no more than twenty years. She had dark hair, raggedly cut to just below her ears, and a soft cultured voice, though she spoke very little. She had been sold by a family that had no use for a semi-skilled mechanic, especially one who carried a child about with her always. Gardulla was pleased with the woman's skill, and she put up with the boy-child because he was quiet, and because he was already showing himself to have an almost instinctive knowledge of the inner workings of machinery. Such talent, when recognized, would become very useful in a slave, very useful indeed.

The mother had known the taste of the whip, and her brown eyes darkened as she considered her precious child under the same fate. She held her tiny son, rocked him, loved him with all her heart, but wondered endlessly how he had come to be. One night, when all was quiet in the palace, she crept close to the pile of rags her son slumbered on, one hand thrown over his eyes, and she stared at him until her eyes began to fill.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, Ani," she whispered, reaching out gently to touch his tousled fair hair. He stirred, but did not wake. She continued. "I never meant to bring you into this foul existence, when you were destined for the stars. I would never have cursed you to this fate." She mopped at her tears with one ragged sleeve. "If I only knew, my Ani, how it is that you came to be . . ." She sighed. "Anakin . . . who is your father? What am I going to say to you when you grow old enough to wonder? Will you believe me when I tell you the truth? Well," she said practically, for she was of a practical mind, "I may never know, and you are a living child, not a specter, and I must care for you. And I will always love you, no matter where you came from."

A sharp call caught her attention—a harsh, guttural voice calling for her: "Shmi!"  
She looked once more upon the peaceful face of her slumbering child. "Sleep, my Ani. I'll leave the light on."

_The dark, coming, is heralded by dark things; such as death. Death is the ultimate darkness—it is completely obscured. People fear the dark, as they fear death._

_Innocents are hurt in these battles of light against dark. Sometimes there are many casualties; sometimes, only a few. The dark would have all believe that these are necessary; that for the good of the many, the few must be sacrificed._

_Life is a harbinger of light. Life seeks to enlighten, and what a person knows, he cannot dread. When the light comes, everything becomes clear._

_Dark is fear; light is the absence of fear._

_As the light goes out, people huddle in the dark, reaching out to hold their friends and family. But what happens to the hands that reach, but find themselves alone?_

Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped forward into his apartment, dreading what he might see; knowing it would be the same as the others. The morning sunlight gleamed silently off the bare walls, a tomb as surely as the rest of the temple was. He was careful so as not to make a sound—it seemed wrong now, to break the silence. Except—maybe, with just one word.

"Rosa?" he called. "Rosa?" He looked into her half of the apartment.

It was no different than he had expected and dreaded.

Little Rosa lay on the floor on her side, her 'saber in her hand. A single long, blackened slash across her chest spoke of how she had died—painlessly, that much Obi-Wan had, at least. Tears blurred the Jedi Master's vision, and she swam and twisted in his eyes, almost looking as if she was moving—Obi-Wan dashed them away.

"No," he whispered, dropping to his knees beside her. He began to speak, hardly knowing what he was saying."Not you. You can't have died—not you too. No . . . why did . . . how . . . no, no. You were my apprentice, my daughter. First Qui-gon, Siri, now you . . . you have to tell me—where Anakin is—he cannot be dead, he was much too good a duelist . . . please do not let him be dead too, do not leave me alone . . ."

His voice cracked and he bent, a few tears escaping his tightly closed eyes. He staggered to his feet, looking at the cold, pale corpse of his apprentice. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here to protect you," he whispered thickly. His eyes traced the singed arc the lightsaber had scythed across her chest . . . "If I were not a Jedi I would be able to avenge you. But I am a Jedi, and vengeance . . . I hope justice will be enough for you, Padawan. I hope . . . that I will be able to keep the distinction between the two."

_A strange fact that few people of the Galactic Republic understand is how like light and dark the Jedi and Sith are. Destined, or doomed to fight wherever they meet, they each follow the side of the Force to which they have given their allegiance, and have the qualities of their respective sides._

_Some wonder which is the stronger of the two—the light, with its boundless, ceaseless energy and swiftness, its terrible power and stunning beauty, its sharp-edged brilliance and color . . . or dark; ancient - ponderous almost - but cunning. Dark with its strange, entrancing promise of power, exotic and magnetic, but . . . terrifying at its heart. Colorless, cold, empty . . . yet alluring._

_When the light and the dark clash, as they so inevitably do, there is nothing that can stop the ascension of one or the other, but where there is no balance, there is no order, and the galaxy is thrown into disarray. The light cannot completely illuminate any more than the dark can totally overshadow all things. But there are periods of great luminosity . . . and there are also times of deep darkness._

The little family trudged down the street in the midst of the procession, walking through the deepening gloom of twilight. The mother walked tall and straight, her brown hair gleaming in the last rays of the sun. A noise by her side attracted her attention, and she looked down to see her son choking on his sobs. Reaching over, she put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Long habit made him draw away from her touch, but after a moment, he stepped to her side as if seeking comfort. The people all around them walked on silently, heads bowed, clothing ruffling softly.

"Mother," he said, looking up at her with pain-filled brown eyes, "I don't understand. Why would the Jedi kill Aunt Padme?"

Sola Naberrie straightened, looking up ahead at the casket, floating in the air, containing her beautiful sister's cold, pale body. "I don't know," she said to her son, voice expressionless. No, she didn't know, not for certain. Bail Organa's message had been short, but she had caught an underlying thread of tension as he mentioned "the Jedi" who had always protected Padmé in her short, eventful life . . . in point of fact, Sola had known that the Jedi Order had taken Padmé somewhat under their wing, but the only Jedi who sprang effortlessly to Sola's mind in connection with Padmé was also a hero of the Republic . . . praises sung in every cantina from Coruscant to the Rim . . . the man who, although Sola couldn't prove it, was also the father of the children Padmé had hidden from the galaxy and who had died without even breathing their first breath . . . the man whose passionate, fiery nature had simultaneously frightened Sola and drawn Padmé to him . . . who, along with all the other Jedi, was now being hunted down by the new Emperor and his second-in-command, Darth Vader . . .

"Skywalker," she breathed, without realizing she had spoken aloud, but her thirteen-year-old son, walking close beside her, heard her. His breath caught, and he glanced first at his mother's face, then at the casket. Slowly, a terrible, burning anger seeped into his soft brown eyes, and his fists clenched.

_Skywalker . . ._

* * *

_21 years later_

Stars. Hundreds, thousands, millions, stars beyond count. Reaching into the vast reaches of space, pinpricks of light.

A soul of darkness stared out into the haze of the stars, eyes peering out from underneath the obscurity of a black hood, cold and calculating. A brief, chilling smile touched his withered lips as his mind felt the approach of another dark soul. Behind him, the door _chizzed_ open.

"Lord Vader," he said, savoring the words. _Mine. This darkness, I fashioned it. This life, I ruined; this soul, I maimed. Mine. I am Sidious, the subtle one. _"You returned later than anticipated, my friend."

Vader did not answer, although Sidious felt the uncertainty in his mind as he walked with his long strides to stand just behind and to the left of his Sith Master. Sidious was a bit piqued by this silence, and by the apprehension in his apprentice's mind. "You found the Rebels?" he snapped, allowing some anger to creep into his voice. Anger. The mainstay of the Sith.

Silence.

It was too quiet, Sidious suddenly noticed, and he snarled, "Lord Vader—your breathing apparatus?"

"My lord . . ."

Sidious stiffened at the sound of the long-forgotten voice. It was still light and husky, although the damage his lungs had sustained gave it a rougher edge. It was Anakin Skywalker's voice.

"I . . . was wounded, my Master," Vader—or was it another?---said. "A lightsaber wound on the organic part of my arm."

Sidious did not turn, but his mind began to gently probe, searching . . .

"I just, I healed myself," Vader continued. "I went further, and the damage, Master, it is all but gone . . ."

So familiar a voice. Once again, the breathlessness of a ten-year-old, the eagerness of a child. _How dare you, how _dare _you, _Sidious's mind breathed. _You are no longer that, no longer _him_, you are MINE._ "Vader," he said, cutting him off coldly, "you are in error."

"I . . . Master?" Vader said.

Sidious turned. His glacial gaze took in the four inches of curly dark hair, the gleam of wary blue eyes, the soft glint of the starlight off a jawline and a fuzz of stubble. "Grave error," he hissed. "You have forgotten what . . . such deeds . . ." he spat out the words, "can do. That is the path of the old Jedi Order, or have you forgotten?" He had found what he had been seeking within his apprentice's mind—a faint, a minuscule, a tiny breath of light. He advanced a step, and Vader took an unsteady step backwards, staring.

"No, Master, I swear—"

"Your pain reminded you of the folly of those ways," Sidious said, taking another step. Vader mimicked the movement in reverse. "Have you forgotten Padmé?"

"Master . . ." Vader choked out, tripping on the stairs and falling heavily to his knees.

"And your old Master, who gave you that pain, in his arrogance?" Sidious raised his hands. "Lord Vader, you disappoint me." Drawing upon the power that sparked invisibly all around them, he sent brilliant blue-white tentacles of fire flickering across Vader's pathetic, cringing body. Vader writhed, collapsing against the railing, the lightning dissipating across his cloak and over the floor, and breath hissed through his teeth.

"Master!" Vader screamed, "I—I'm sorry!"

_I do not want you to be sorry,_ Sidious snarled inwardly. _Sorrow is not of the Sith. _He pressed harder, a terrible smile twisting his withered lips, and the lightning intensified.  
With a final shriek, Vader collapsed, his body still twitching spasmodically as the energy pulsed through him. Sidious thoughtfully kept the lightning going for a moment longer, then released the power. Steam was rising from the breathing machinery on Vader's chest—or was it smoke? He was still breathing, but it was harsh and broken.

Vader jerked and his eyes slid open, glazed with pain. He looked for a moment at Sidious, then his gaze slid towards the window through which Sidious had been gazing when he arrived.

_Anakin stared at the stars, and it was as if he were nine again, sitting outside his simple home, rejoicing in putting off his bedtime, marveling at the abundance of stars._

_  
_There are so many of them! Are there planets around all of them?

Probably. _Sometimes, when he was alone, he still allowed himself to miss that long-departed voice._

_  
_Has anyone ever visited all of them?

H'm! Not likely.

I wanna be the first one to see 'em all!

_Then the stars blurred, and pain dragged him into its dark depths._

Sidious knelt next to Vader, his greatest apprentice—_greatest so far,_ a small voice told him. Vader was alive, in pain once again. _I only give you the same gift as Obi-Wan,_ Sidious told the unconscious man silently. _The gift of endless remembrance. You will not try something so foolhardy again—but you will not have to wear your mask always, anymore. Your "Jedi" tricks have ensured that._

He motioned to the Red Guard, and they came forward in unison, silent and watchful.  
"Remove him from my presence," Sidious hissed. "Tell the medical droid to replace his breathing apparatus. And—when he wakes . . . inform him that I have news for him."  
He paused. "Tell him it concerns the son of Skywalker."


	2. Chapter 1: Indecision and Determination

"Hey, Commander."

Luke Skywalker turned, brushing a strand of fair hair out of his eyes—leaving, though he didn't know it, a streak of engine oil on his forehead—and looked up into the grinning gray eyes of Wedge Antilles.

"When you're finished tinkering with this blasted machine," Wedge said, glancing up at the _Millenium Falcon,_ looming over their heads, "Rieeken wants to speak with you."

Luke nodded absently. "I'll be there in a few minutes. There's not much I can do for her, anyway . . . Han was the only one who ever really understood her." He patted the landing strut which stood next to him and turned back to the access panel through which he had been trying to fix a problem with the _Falcon_'s hyperdrive. He stared at the tangled wires and took a deep breath

"Luke - are you all right? Seriously?" Wedge was watching him with a worried expression clouding his face. "You've been acting oddly since Bespin . . . even Tycho has noticed. If it's about Han, then you do know that we're doing everything we can to get him back, right?"

Luke nodded, not meeting his friend's eyes. _I'm worried about Han on top of everything._ Still without looking at Wedge, he said, "Just let me get cleaned up, and I'll be right there."

"Sure." Wedge nodded, still looking worried.

Luke closed the access panel and began stripping off the protective gear he had been wearing, revealing his gray uniform with the Rogue Squadron insignia on the shoulder. "Any idea what Rieeken wants?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Not a clue. He's waiting in your office, if that tells you anything. I'll go tell him you're coming." Turning, Wedge darted off into the smoggy gloom of the Rebel Alliance's Tensor IV base.

"Yeah . . . I'll be there in a minute." Luke wasn't sure if Wedge had heard him. He looked around the smoky, noisy hanger, listening to the sounds of his fellow pilots' voices echoing around the large space, and wondered how long they'd be left in peace here.

The Empire was coming down hard on them. Ever since the fiasco on Bespin . . . Luke's right hand twitched, and his mind shied away from the memories, but they would not be denied.

_He stared up into a nightmare of a mask, a helmet that seemed to hold the darkness of midnight . . . "Luke . . ." a soulless voice told him, "_I _am your father."_

_He cried out then, not from fear or hatred, but from pain as, in a sudden rush the Force confirmed Darth Vader's words . . ._

_. . . wind whipped through his hair, and his eyes stung, but he barely noticed—he moved, and pain arced through his body . . . crying out, he reached out instinctively, as Yoda had taught him. "Leia . . ." he moaned . . ._

He turned away from the memories, sucking in a deep breath. He would have thought, after three weeks, the anguish would have lessened.

A light touch on his arm jerked him out of his reverie. He didn't have to look to see who it was—Leia. Her mind was nearly as familiar to him as his own, although a deeper layer of sorrow had been added to her psyche since they had lost Han to Vader and Boba Fett.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

Still looking away, he put his hand over hers and nodded. She didn't know, no one knew, the horrible news he had received from Darth Vader during their duel, but she knew that something was troubling him. He was thankful for her kindness, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her; he couldn't bear to see her soft brown eyes fill with hatred, disgust, all the emotions she felt for his . . . _Father_. He didn't want her to turn away from him.

"Does your hand hurt?" she asked, gently tugging at his arm until he faced her. She looked over the prosthetic hand that had replaced the one Vader had struck off. The overhead lights glinted off her dark brown hair, which was in a sort of crown around her head, with trailing wisps curling beside her ears. She gave him back his hand and said, "Sometimes it takes a while to get used to cybernetic implants—I can have M3 get you something . . ."

"No, it's not . . . I'm all right." He held her eyes for a moment, willing her to understand and hoping that she would not.

A line had appeared between her eyebrows, but she nodded and released him.

"Luke," she said quietly, "we're all hurting . . . don't turn me away, all right?"

He looked at her for a moment, wondering, as he often had, what had happened between her and Han on Bespin.

As if she could sense his thoughts, she looked away from his face and said, "It's still strange to see you without a lightsaber."

"I'll never get the old one back," he said emotionlessly. The old blue lightsaber that Obi-Wan had given to him . . . his father's old lightsaber.

"I know – but couldn't you . . . you know, make a new one?" Leia said.

He shivered. "Maybe sometime soon. I can use a blaster just as well."

"But a lightsaber's so much more than just a weapon," Leia argued. "When I think of everything you could do with one . . . sometimes I wish _I _had one."

He turned his face away. "Listen, I have to run. Rieeken's summoned me."

"Okay." She stepped away. "You can talk to me anytime, you know."

"I know." Luke smiled in a way that he hoped was comforting, then turned away. He trudged through the hangar, head low, ignoring the hails of those he passed. He couldn't bring himself to be bright and chipper and happy right now—not with these thoughts he had running through his mind.

_Ben . . ._ he thought for the thousandth time, _why didn't you tell me? Did you think I would hate you for it?_ The answer, if he was honest with himself, was _yes_.

Exiting the hangar through a small door on the wall, he entered a blessedly empty hallway. It was dark, except for a flickering emergency light on the ceiling. Allowing his tight mental control to relax for a moment, he leaned against the gray, mottled wall and clamped his eyes shut, trying to keep in the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. _My father is Darth Vader . . . Darth Vader's my father . . ._

_Ben, I need you. _He reached out with his mind, trying to find the lingering ghost of his—and his father's—former teacher. _Tell me that it's going to be all right, Obi-Wan, please._  
As he stretched further, searching out among the unresponsive minds that milled throughout the base, someone, astonishingly, answered. The mind stirred, turned, and _smiled _at him—then it turned away, and he couldn't find it again.

It wasn't merely the unexpectedness of it that took his breath away, it was how familiar the mind was. _Where have I met you before? _he asked, but the other Force-Sensitive didn't answer. A noise behind him, and he turned to see a young captain hastily backing out of the doorway, looking embarrassed. Luke jumped away from the wall, aware how odd he must have looked, and tried valiantly not to blush.

Turning, he made his escape up the hallway, which sloped upward as it headed for the surface. Like most of the Rebel Alliance's bases, Tensor IV was mostly underground—in this case, a converted iron ore mine. Wires draped along the walls, floor, and ceiling gave it a very claustrophobic feeling, although the roof of the tunnel was at least eight feet high. Dim, flickering lights suspended overhead gave the only light.

Moving quickly, he walked the rest of the way to his office, so-called. Really, it was a converted sleep chamber, and it remained rather unofficial-looking. Luke actually preferred it that way; even though he had been Rogue Squadron's leader for several months now, he was still uncomfortable with his rank. Pushing open the door, he blinked as his eyes accustomed themselves to bright lighting glinting off polished white floor and metal surfaces.

A tall, steely-haired man unfolded himself from the chair in front of Luke's desk.

"Commander Skywalker," General Carlist Rieeken said, peering at Luke's haggard face with bright dark eyes, taking in the baggy eyes, the unkempt hair, and the dark streak of oil on Luke's forehead. "Thank you for your prompt response."

Luke, unsure whether this was veiled censure or an attempt at a compliment, merely nodded and stood uncertainly beside the door. Wedge, who had been lounging in another chair against a wall, frowned.

Rieeken smiled grimly. "Commander Skywalker, this is an informal gathering of friends, not a briefing room - and it's your office. Please sit down."

Luke couldn't help but smile at this. He moved to his usual seat behind the desk, saying, "Sorry, sir. I'm just not really sure what this is about."

"Well, it's a serious concern, actually," General Rieeken said. He frowned as he settled himself again into his chair. "About you, Skywalker."

"Concern - about _Luke?_" Wedge's voice rang with incredulity.

Rieeken nodded slowly. "Several members of the Command have expressed doubts about Commander Skywalker's continuing ability to head Rogue Squadron."

Luke's head was spinning. "I don't understand," he said cautiously.

"Some even take it so far as to question your piloting ability."

"Luke's the best pilot the Alliance has," Wedge said through gritted teeth. "What _are_ these concerns, anyway?"

Rieeken's eyes were unhappy. "Many members have reported noticing signs of depression, anger, and withdrawal in you, Skywalker."

"He's just tired." For all that Wedge had showed such concern a few minutes ago, he sounded angry as he stared in disbelief at the general's lined face.

"What has Leia been saying about this?" Luke spoke quietly.

"The princess has also expressed concern about you, Skywalker, but she recommends that you be allowed to command Rogue Squadron. It is, after all, at least partly your creation." He nodded at Wedge. "Most of the other members of Command are pushing to have Colonel Antilles replace you as Rogue Leader, at least for a probationary period of time."

"Me?" Wedge laughed shortly. "I know my place, and it's right next to and slightly behind Luke."

Rieeken sighed and stood. "You may have no choice, Colonel. I came to tell you, although no decision has been reached. These people aren't your enemies. They simply think that the stress has become too much for you and that you need time to recover." He gazed sympathetically at the stunned pair of pilots. "Think about it. It's not the end of the world, and it'll be easier on your team if you resign before you're dismissed."

He nodded at them, then turned and strode from the room. At the closing of the door, Wedge stirred. "He made it sound as if it were final already. But it's not, Luke - I won't let it happen."

Luke shook his hand. "How? And what if he's right? Maybe I'm _not_ fit to command the Rogues anymore."

"I'd like to hear you say that to them," Wedge said fiercely. "They'd fly into a star for you. Worse. And they've done it many times." He stood and strode over to his friend, bending down to look into Luke's blue eyes. Putting a hand on Luke's shoulder, he said, "Luke - what's gotten into you? I've never seen you act like this before."

Luke shook his head. "Maybe Rieeken's right. Maybe I'm falling apart."

Wedge shook him roughly. "Rieeken is _not_ right. You're Luke Skywalker, you're the last of the Jedi, and you're _our_ commander."

Luke pulled away angrily, standing so hastily that he knocked over his chair. _"_What if you're wrong about who I am, Wedge? What if I turned out to be . . ." His anger died, leaving him shaking. I _am your father . . ._ "What if all I had thought was a lie?"

"Then ignore what you _thought_ and work on what's real." Wedge met Luke's eyes with a frank, steady gaze. Then he grinned. "And while you're at it, I'm starved. Let's go to the lounge and grab a bite."

Luke's stomach chose this moment to remember that he hadn't eaten for six hours, and it growled loudly. Wedge's grin widened. He clapped Luke on the back. "C'mon, 'mander. Maybe someone in the lounge can cheer you up."

Privately, Luke doubted it, but he followed Wedge through the door and up the wire-draped hallway until they reached a room that rang with laughter and loud conversation. Luke stepped through the door hesitantly, blinking in the sudden glow from the light panels that lined the walls, casting a harsh yellowish glow that drained everything in the room - walls, furnishings, people - of all color. The general merriment of the small crowd in the room reminded him of days, not so long ago, when he was as carefree and untroubled as the men and women who were enjoying themselves, untroubled by nightmare visions of a father they could no longer look up to.

A sudden hush fell. "'Mander," someone said in a shocked voice, "you look terrible. Are you - Wedge, is he okay?"

"Just needs some food," Wedge said loudly.

There was a sudden bustle of movement as everyone began grabbing food for their commander. Luke stood by the door, Wedge having abandoned him for the food, and listened to the muffled comments as his squadron piled food onto plates.

". . .worried when he didn't come in the lounge for weeks, but if I'da known he was turning into a walking corpse . . ."

" . . . likes blue milk, doesn't he?"

"Sure, comes from Tatooine, doesn't it?"

" . . . Solo's loss hit him hard . . ."

"Hey, leave some of that for me!" Wedge said in annoyance.

The first to approach him was Rogue Five, Will Scotian, peering at him through a tumble of red curls, hazel eyes worried. "You're okay, 'mander, aren't you?" the young man asked, and then the rest of Rogue Squadron descended. Plates, glasses, silverware, and napkins were pressed upon him, and he found himself seated upon one of the threadbare lounge chairs, sipping blue milk and trying to ignore the ring of worried faces that surrounded him.

"Skywalker." He turned reluctantly to face Rogue Three, who pushed her silvery-blonde hair out of her burning dark eyes and said in the same firm tone, "Now that you've got enough food to feed an army, what's bothering you?"

Luke saw Wedge through a gap in the bodies pressed close around him. His wingmate looked slightly exasperated and also sad.

"It's nothing, Tasha," he said to Rogue Three.

She let out an exasperated burst of breath, but Tycho Celchu got in first. "You can't expect us to believe that! You're worried all the time, you look as if you're starving yourself and not sleeping at all . . ."

"Yeah, Luke, we aren't stupid." Wes Janson's eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were dark with worry.

"Something's happened, hasn't it? Have you gotten news about Solo?" Rogue Seven, Kasan Moor, eyed him sympathetically.

"No. Nothing about Han." Luke stood suddenly, scattering food and onlookers. He met Wedge's eyes again. "I . . . I'm being replaced as your commander."

Shocked silence greeted this announcement. Then everyone began talking at once. Luke held up a hand, and the shouts died away to angry whispers.

"The Command has agreed on it. Wedge will be my replacement."

Heads swiveled to look in disbelief at Rogue Two. "That's garbage," Tarrin Datch growled. "No offense, Wedge, if it were anyone else I would be behind you in a heartbeat . . ."

"I understand, Datch," Wedge said calmly. "_I'm_ not behind the decision. I'll fight it every step of the way."

Chins firmed at this pronouncement. "So will we," Zeb Kabir said in his deep, slow voice.  
Luke frowned helplessly. "What if Command is right, though?"

"Don't be an idiot, Luke," Hobbie said. "You belong here. With us. You're the man who destroyed the Death Star! How can they doubt your ability?"

"I'm not the same person I was then." Luke shrugged, turning away. "I was an idealistic boy with silly dreams."

"May the Force grant us all such silly dreams," Kasan murmured.

"Anyway, nothing's final yet." Wedge came up behind Tycho and clapped him on the back. "Still some time to talk sense into the command. _And _him." He indicated Luke with his fork and then began eating.

"Until then, Luke, promise you'll keep coming to see us," Will said quietly.

"Yeah, or we'll storm your office en masse," Janson said, half-jokingly.

* * *

"So." Vader's voice was loud in the stillness, and the sound of it made already straight backs stand even straighter. He treated each of the men to his icy-blue gaze, then continued. "The Rebels have had far too easy a time in this war. We're almost handing them the galaxy on a silver platter, and it cannot continue. Am I understood?" He didn't pause this time, apparently at ease in the knowledge that no one would dare question him. "We must teach them a lesson they will not forget, directed at the heart of their infrastructure, at a Rebel operative who has been a thorn in the Empire's side for far too long. Targeter. The Emperor has instructed me to command a three-pronged mission to apprehend him in his suspected locations, and your squadrons have been chosen to crew my fleet." He turned to glance at the man standing next to him, a gray-haired veteran. "General Veers will be briefing you." He held out black-gloved fist. "The Rebellion must be crushed. I trust you will not fail me."

Vader turned and swept out of the room, taking a black shadow with him. The men relaxed visibly, and several sighs of relief escaped from behind clenched lips. General Veers allowed them a moment to regain their composure, then stepped forward.

"I've prepared datacards with instructions for you and your men. Vaisel?" A man stepped forward and accepted the datacard from Veers. "Wesseré?" Veers looked closely at the young man who answered to this name, taking in the energy burning from the dark eyes and the firm set of his chin. "The 501st will, of course, be accompanying Lord Vader aboard the _Executor_ for most of the mission."

Esserec Wesseré nodded, briefly compressing his lips together. "Understood, sir." His hand clenched around the datacard, and he stepped back, his mind racing. He listened with only half an ear as Veers began to describe the mission they were facing, and his mind began to spiral along an all-too familiar path.

_Perhaps Targeter is Skywalker . . . that would be very convenient, as it would spare me the trouble of having to hunt him down myself—and aboard Vader's flagship, as well. That all but ensures I'll have the chance of seeing Targeter, if we apprehend him._

"Commander Wesseré?" Veers' voice cut through his dark daydreams and Esserec looked up. The rest of the men had gone, and he and the general were alone. "Are you all right? I understand how overwhelming you must find the new assignment . . ."

"I'm fine, sir," Esserec hastened to assure him. "I was just thinking about what was ahead."

Veers' eyes searched the younger man's face, then he nodded curtly. "Well, you're dismissed."

Esserec nodded, saluted, and left. It was bedtime, judging by the dimness of the lights along the corridor, so Esserec reluctantly headed for his quarters. He hated sleeping. Sometimes he had the oddest dreams . . .

As he entered his small suite of rooms, he felt as though something was wrong. His quarters were dark, as usual, but it was a waiting darkness, as if someone had put out the lights and was sitting in the dark, waiting for him. Esserec walked slowly through the rooms, the feeling of someone waiting within growing stronger. His hand crept to his waist, where his blaster was tucked into its shiny synthleather holster, as he eased around the corner into his bedroom. His eyes swept the room, and though it was obvious that no one was there, his neck was still itching from the hairs sticking up, and he could not shake away the feeling that he was being watched. He waited a moment, hoping that his natural cynicism would dismiss the feeling, but it did not go away; if anything, it grew. Grumbling to himself, he flicked on the light and began to ready himself for bed, but not before checking the room again.

_Esserec, you're getting paranoid. This much stress is not good for you._

He looked up, wondering (as he sometimes did) whether that thought had been his own, or that of someone else talking to him inside his head. Shaking off the feeling, he burrowed under the blanket and tried desperately to fall into dreamless sleep. He succeeded in one-half of his goal, anyway.

_He was on Naboo, as he'd been so often before. He didn't have to look around to ascertain this; even the smell of the air evoked the planet of his birth, and it helped that his surroundings were very familiar. Well, familiar at least to his dream-self._

_When he dreamed, Esserec found himself split into two people—his normal self, who would watch what was going on with varying degrees of emotion, and his dream self, who appeared to be someone quite different from the Esserec outside the dream, a man less world-weary, less cynical; a_ _happier man._

'_She'(as Esserec always called her; never in any of his dreams had he heard her name) was there, as she always was—a tall woman wearing long robes, with astonishing purple eyes whose very gaze caused the dream-Esserec to melt into a gooey puddle at her feet._

_They appeared to be in Theed, Naboo's capital, walking along a sunlit plaza, and She was __talking a mile a minute about something that Esserec didn't understand in the slightest._  
" _. . . it was really odd, Essie—" _Essie? _Esserec objected, but as usual was ignored. ". . . but I knew that I knew him, it must have been some kind of---"_

_Then two things happened simultaneously. She suddenly leaped straight up into the air about ten feet, and from the crowd that was milling around them came a hail of blaster bolts. The crowd screamed and began to scatter in all directions. The dream-Esserec gave an exclamation and rolled out of the way, drawing his blaster from his belt as he did, and spun— _

_and suddenly, he realized that he was not holding a blaster, but a_ lightsaber, _a brilliant blue one. For a moment, the normal-Esserec took over and he tried to shake it from his fist, and suddenly a blaster bolt hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks._

_All was dark. He could still feel himself breathing, but it was so . . . hard . . ._

Esserec Wesseré struggled to wake, but the dream was not yet finished with him. If anyone had been in his room, watching him sleep, they might have noticed that the commander was not breathing, was, in fact, struggling to draw breath. This can sometimes happen in dreams.

_Light. He heard a groan, and realized distantly that it was his own voice. He opened his eyes. She was looking down at him, one hand on his chest, where an enormous weight seemed to be resting, and the other was clutching his limp hand._

"_Esserec . . ." She said, choking on her tears. "Hold on, just hold on. I—"_

_With a tremendous effort, he pulled his hand out of hers and touched her face. "It's too late."_

"_No!" She denied vehemently. "I won't let you . . . die."_

"_Sweetling, there's nothing you can do." Esserec took another, painful breath. "I'll see you on the other side."_

_He took Her last protest with him into the darkness. The tearful "No!" was enough to sustain his severed spirit, and instead of melting into eternity, as he was supposed to, he found himself still by Her side, staring at the empty clothes lying on the street, with a single, still-smoking hole in the center of the robe._

"_I'll be seeing you," he told her, and as She looked up in hope, he melted into the void._

Suddenly, Esserec found that he could breathe, and he woke up. His hand flew to his chest, to his relief finding it unbroken, unmarked, and he took in one ragged breath after another. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, the dream still vivid in his mind.

He buried his head in his hands. Death had been so frighteningly real, and so had that brief glimpse of _something _afterwards. This was new, and baffling. He had never been a Jedi before in one of his dreams. Something new his brain was throwing at him? True, he had often dreamed of being a Jedi Knight in his youth, a youth so long ago and so far from what he was now that he seldom thought about it. In fact, such dreams were best suppressed, especially around Lord Vader.

_My dreams died long ago, _he told himself firmly, and imagined telling Vader. _Yeah, that conversation will go well, _he thought bitterly. _You see, Lord Vader, I once wanted to become a Jedi, but then they became fugitives from justice and one of them killed my mother's sister . . ._

Standing, he went into the refresher, flicking on the light and turning to look at himself in the mirror. His dark hair was tousled, and there were dark bags under his eyes. _I look like death warmed over. Ironic, considering what I just dreamed about. _He rubbed his hand against his chin and turned his gaze downward to check the time on his wrist chrono. Almost dawn. _And I have to report on the _Executor _in less than six hours . . . _He looked at his grizzled reflection again, sighed, and set about trying to forget the disturbing dream as he prepared for the day.

Trying to distract himself, he headed back into his bedroom, settled down on the bed and flicked on the datapad that Veers had given him. The mission was fairly straightforward—new intelligence placed the Rebel Alliance's headquarters somewhere in a remote area of the Outer Rim, and Targeter with them. Further probing had narrowed the search range to three systems within twenty parsecs of each other. Vader, apparently, was confident that this intelligence would prove accurate. Offhand, it looked like a waste of Imperial time and resources to Esserec. Vader's hatred of the Rebellion was legendary, though they _had _proved annoying—and over time, had evolved from a disparate group of rabble into something resembling a real army. Esserec sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. In spite of the distraction, a pair of purple eyes kept popping into his mind.

_I'm not even convincing myself, am I? _he thought. _The moment Vader comes near me, I'll be dead. Better dead than insane, really . ._ .

He lay back on the bed and stayed there, staring at the ceiling, daring sleep to claim him. Usually when he did this, sleep laughed in his face and he just fell asleep to a particularly vivid dream, but this time it wouldn't come. Perhaps he'd been too convincing with his predictions of Vader's reaction to his thoughts, because the purple eyes had been replaced by an icily blue glare, and the melodic voice with a harsh, deadly, rasping growl. His lapses into sleep were brief and fretful, and the Jedi of his dreams troubled him no more that night.


	3. Chapter 2: Loyalty and Animosity

The mess hall was packed to the brim with noisy figures in a kaleidoscopic range of colors, shapes, and sizes. Shouts echoed from the high stone walls as friends at different tables exchanged gossip, and the clatter of silverware was deafening to Leia Organa's ears.

A low, musical voice spoke behind Leia."So, who are we going to sit with tonight?" Leia turned her attention from the busy room to glance at her companion, Winter Retrac, who cocked a silvery-white eyebrow at her. "A random couple of Toydarians? Or refugees from Mullinst, perhaps?"

Winter, Leia reflected, could express disapproval of friendly interaction at the oddest of times. "No, tonight I thought we'd sit with Rogue Squadron, seeing as how they're waving us over," she said, nodding in the direction of the noisiest table in the room. Tycho Celchu, his light brown hair glinting in the harsh light from the ceiling, grinned as the two women turned and began walking in his direction.

As they approached Rogue Squadron's table, Leia searched the milling table with her eyes and came away disappointed. "Luke's not here," she murmured to her white-haired friend.  
"I noticed. But he hasn't been out much lately," Winter said in a similarly quiet tone.

Leia bit her lower lip. "It's not good for him to be always alone like this," she said. "I'm really worried about him. Something's been bothering him for a while now. He seems so tired all the time. You heard about Command's decision?"

"Tycho told me," Winter said, her slanted green eyes on Rogue Nine's face. "He says the squadron's contemplating revolt if Command really does go through with it."

"Not contemplating," Wedge said, catching this as they sat near him. "We're doing it. Luke's no less fit than you or I."

"You can't actually revolt!" Leia said in alarm, sudden visions - the Alliance split into warring factions - running through her mind. "Think what it would look like if Rogue Squadron actually defied Command!"

"And what about what something like that would do to him?" Tasha said angrily. "Rogue Squadron's all he's got left."

The table around them suddenly fell silent, drawing curious eyes from all over the dim, smoky room.

"That's not true." Leia put as much quiet dignity as she could into her voice, but she suddenly wondered if Tasha was right. _Was_ Rogue Squadron all that kept Luke going?

Then Janson said, "Here he comes, Leia—late, as usual, probably doing some paperwork."

"Luke, paperwork?" Wedge laughed. "Fell asleep at his desk, more like."

"Probably," Leia said with a forced laugh. Turning, she waved and called, "Luke! Hey, Luke—over here!" Luke looked over and turned his step towards their table.

Winter was looking carefully at Luke as he came nearer. "You're right, Leia, he definitely looks strained. Tired." She shifted in her seat. "I can't think of the right word. Tense."

"All of the above," Zev said quietly, and then they all pasted on smiles to greet the young Rogue Leader.

"What's this, a conspiracy?" Luke said laughingly, looking from face to face as he settled himself in on Leia's other side. The smile was as forced as Leia's had been, and Wedge made no effort to hide his grimace. Leia studied Luke's face closely, noting the dark pouches under his eyes and the downward tug to the corners of his mouth. _What's wrong with him? He looks like he's stumbled out of his deathbed!_

"Hungry, Luke?" Tycho said as brightly as he could.

"Not really," Luke muttered. "I think I'll just have a bite and then go to bed."

The table echoed with outraged groans. "Bed?? This early?"

"You promised you'd keep coming to the lounge with us!"

Wedge's authoritative voice cut through the din. "Let him sleep, if he wants to. You can harass him once he's gotten some rest."

The noise subsided into a low muttering, and Leia thought, _Wedge already sounds like their leader._

A voice piped up from the center of the other side of the table. "What will you do, Luke, if you _do_ leave Rogue Squadron?" Heads shifted, and Leia saw that the speaker was young Will Scotian, his cheeks red with embarrassment as dozens of glares settled on him.

"Will, don't . . ." Janson said uncomfortably.

Luke smiled weakly. "It's all right. I've been thinking about it, actually."

"Great," Tycho muttered.

"I think I'd probably return to Degobah and finish my Jedi training with Master Yoda." A hushed silence fell as he said this. Luke's lips twisted as he smiled - a _real_ smile, Leia noted. "Or else I hear there's an opening in Gold Squadron," he said.

There was a chorus of boos. "_Gold_ Squadron? Those pedal-pushers?"

"You've got to be kidding me, Skywalker." In spite of her outraged tone, Tasha smiled as she said this.

"Every year we have to clean up some mess that the Golds have made!"

"I don't know, I've always fancied their insignia . . ."

"Over _ours_? Don't be stupid, Ten."

"Hey, my da flew in Gold Squadron back in the days of the Republic-"

Luke stood abruptly, his face as still as marble. "I'm going to bed," he said. "I'm a bit tired."

Everyone was staring at him.

"Sure, Luke," Wedge said. "Go ahead and get some rest. Tomorrow's maneuvers."

"Is it?" Luke didn't appear to have really heard. He turned and stumbled out of the room, followed by many worried eyes.

"He didn't even eat anything," Datch said into the quiet.

* * *

Morning came too soon, and too late. Esserec pulled on his impeccably starched black dress uniform and smoothed down his unruly dark hair; he felt sandy-eyed from a sleepless night punctuated by nightmares of his inevitable meeting with Darth Vader. Inevitable, since he had recently been assigned to head a battalion of the the 501st legion, darkly nicknamed 'Vader's Fist.' Although being assigned to such an elite group of stormtroopers was any commander's dream, he found that it had its share of nightmares, too. Quite apart from the physical danger involved, he had heard rumors—as who hadn't?—of how many commanders had come and gone aboard the Dark Lord's ship. Of what happened if an officer made a mistake. Esserec pulled a finger along the inside edge of his collar nervously—it felt tight. He checked his wrist chrono again and headed for the door of his apartment. _Time to go,_ he thought, swallowing down his edginess and walking with the upright dignity befitting a Commander in the Imperial Army. The transport was waiting, and he strode on board, acknowledging the greetings of the crew and the other officers on board with a curt nod.

_If I try to talk, I may throw up,_ he thought. He stared out a nearby window as the transport accelerated into the upper atmosphere of Coruscant, feeling the artificial gravity kick in as they entered the vacuum. A small, triangular shape gleamed from near the horizon of the planet; as they drew nearer, he saw that it was, in fact, enormous; a huge, wedge-shaped ship, ten times the size of any regular Star Destroyer. It loomed closer, swallowing up the sky. The _Executor._ Looking tiny next to it were three _Imperial_-class Star Destroyers.

_  
I'm doomed,_ he thought.

They docked, and the other crew disembarked with due decorum. Esserec followed more slowly, to be greeted by a contingent of stormtroopers, gleaming white in the bright overhead lights.

"_Welcome aboard, Commander," _the captain said with a stiff salute. "_You've all your things? They'll be taken up to your rooms ahead of you—Lord Vader commanded that you report to him as soon as you arrived."_

Esserec swallowed, nodded, pulled his jacket straight and said, "Very well. Does he lodge in the bridge area?"

The captain shook his head. "_No, sir. He has private quarters aft. Level seventeen, sir. It's all his."_

"Then carry on, captain." Esserec nodded. Returning the man's salute, he headed for the nearest lift, a bit unnerved by the immense length of the hallway that stretched out before him. The space was crowded with bustling supplies crews, stormtroopers, port securities, and droids, but Esserec felt alone, set apart; the crowd seemed to part to let him pass. _Marked man,_ he thought.

The lift was empty of occupants aside from a little MSE-6 droid, which zoomed out, evading his boots by inches. He entered, instructed the lift to carry him to level seventeen—was he imagining the little hesitation the lift performed before beginning?—and leaned against the wall, both glad and distressed to be alone with his thoughts.

_The trouble,_ he reflected, _with such a massive ship is the travel time involved getting from one place to another. Gives you too much time to think._

_  
_The lift ride finally ended, and he reluctantly exited to almost the polar opposite of the scene the doors had closed on. It was still a long hallway, with bright lights above and a black floor below. But in contrast, the space was quiet, empty; dead. Devoid of any and all life. Esserec walked down the hall, heading for the door at the end. It was the only door in this long, empty space.

The door opened before him. He hesitated; entered. Looked around.

"Welcome aboard, Commander."

At the sound of the harsh, raspy voice, Esserec turned slowly ninety degrees to the left. A huge, black form stood not five feet from him; dark eyes regarded him balefully. In the dim light, his short hair glinted silver.

Although fear was pounding in his veins, Esserec stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, feet planted firmly. He couldn't quite meet Darth Vader's icy gaze, but he kept his head up, staring at the wall over the Darth Lord's shoulder.

"So you are Commander Wesseré," Vader said, his usually strident voice a whisper. "Your former commanding officers spoke highly of you."

"I'm honored, my Lord," Esserec said, speaking in as firm a tone as he could manage.  
"And your devotion to the Empire is impressive," Vader continued, as if he had not heard. "You were involved in the battle of Hoth, were you not?"

"With the Rebels, sir?" Esserec felt a stir of uneasiness. There had been a new note of eagerness in Vader's tone. "Only peripherally, I'm afraid," he said. "My regiment was held in reserve, and the retreat was called before we had a chance to enter the combat."

"Ah," Vader seemed almost disappointed. "Then you could not have . . . no matter. I have new orders for you, Commander."

"New orders?" Esserec frowned. "Am I to regard my briefing as null, then, sir?"

"No. These orders will not interfere with the ones on the datapad that General Veers prepared. General Veers does not know about these new orders."

Taking a deep breath, Esserec met the taller man's icy blue eyes. "Sir, I'm afraid I do not understand."

Luckily, Vader did not seem angered by this comment. He merely waved a dismissive hand. "You are under my direct control, Commander, as is the 501st. The Emperor himself has given me leave . . . when necessary . . . to conduct missions in secret, even from high-ranking leaders such as General Veers."

"And . . . will the 501st be given orders than _I_ will not know about?" Esserec asked, trying to control the anger that was rising in him.

This did anger Vader. His eyes snapped, and his mouth twisted in a snarl. He clenched a fist in front of his chest, and his eyes bored into Esserec's. "Fools like Veers do not know - cannot know - of our missions, Commander Wesseré. We will be dealing with slime, and worse . . ."

Esserec's heart thumped in his chest with sudden excitement. "You are speaking of Jedi, sir?"

Vader glared at him. "Dealing with Jedi is one of the special tasks the Emperor has entrusted to me. And to you." He twitched aside his cloak and pulled a datacard from his belt. Holding it out to Esserec, he said, "you will find your orders on there, Commander." Reluctantly, Esserec reached out and took the card. "You will . . ." Vader began, then stopped. He took one deep breath, then another. The movement seemed to pain him, and Esserec stared. Vader's already pale skin had become bone-white, and his eyes seemed huge and dark. Another breath, and he hunched over, clutching at the top of the seat which stood next to him, as if for support.

"My lord?" Esserec said, alarmed. "Are you . . ." He took a step forward, then halted, amazed by his own daring.

Vader turned to glare at him, straightening his back as if with supreme effort. He held out a hand, and Esserec cringed, but the only thing that happened was the breathing mask that was lying on a table nearby flew unsteadily into Vader's grasp. Vader quickly attached it to his suit, pulling the helmet over his curls, and in a moment his breathing became regular, mechanized—and the mask glowered at Esserec. "Leave me, Commander Wesseré," Vader said, his voice rendered even deeper, darker, and completely soulless by the breathing apparatus. "You will find your men on level twenty."

Esserec smoothed his features and bowed, clicking his heels together as he straightened. "Yes, my Lord," he said, and left. He kept his back straight, wondering if Vader would change his mind and destroy the inferior who had the arrogance to be worried about his welfare. However, he made it all the way to the lift without feeling a choking hold on his throat, and although he swallowed nervously every few moments, he was able to give an appearance of calmness as he exited onto the bustling twentieth level of the _Executer._ Most of the bustle was stormtroopers and TIE-fighter pilots in their chess-board armor, with a few gray-suited officers thrown into the mix. As Esserec was looking around with some trepidation, wondering how in the seven moons of Iego he was to find his regiment in this madhouse, a hand on his arm stopped him. Turning, he was confronted with the impassive mask of a stormtrooper wearing the orange shoulder patch of a lieutenant, and behind him files of other troopers standing stiffly at attention. The lieutenant saluted and said in a mechanized voice: _"Commander Wesseré? Welcome aboard, sir."_

"Do I know you?" Esserec said, irresolute.

The stormtrooper stood straighter. _"Lieutenant Theo. We met briefly at your promotion, sir."_

"Oh, yes." Esserec nodded. He did have a vague recollection of the name being told him on that occasion. All of the stormtroopers were exactly three inches taller than him, he noted to his vast irritation.

_"Lord Vader contacted us and informed us that you had arrived, sir. Your quarters are this way."_ Lieutenant Theo gestured off to the side.

Esserec nodded, and the rest of the white-suited soldiers fell in behind him and Theo. As they walked, Esserec said to his lieutenant, "How is the rest of the battalion?"

_"Ready to do our duty, sir,"_ Theo said unemotionally. _"Lord Vader has already briefed us fully."_

Esserec nodded, swallowing against the churning of his stomach. "Anything I should know about?" he asked, would-be-lightly.

The stormtrooper turned an impassive gaze upon him. _"Nothing, sir. Your rooms."_ They were standing in front of a gray-painted door, identical to all the rest that lined the corridor. Esserec nodded his thanks.

"Give me a few minutes to get my bearings; and inform the rest of the battalion that I will be inspecting them before this expedition is launched," Esserec said.

Theo saluted, and Esserec watched the group turn as one and vanish into the crowd before letting out a long breath and escaping into his room to find his datapad.

* * *

Silence. The long, gray room stretched out almost as far as Esserec could see in front and on either side. Stormtroopers in gleaming white armor stood in precise lines, so that if Esserec stood directly in front of one 'trooper, it seemed as if there _was_ only one in that line.

And yet, in spite of all this, the 501st legion was much smaller than a typical Imperial legion - only 471 men per battalion. Esserec frowned. He had been meaning to ask Lord Vader the reason for that.

The heads of the four companies stood stiffly at the head of their separate troops. Esserec nodded at Lieutenant Theo, who gave the order of dismissal over his helmet comm. As the troops filed out, Esserec said to Theo, "Tell the company heads to meet us in the briefing room."

Theo nodded. _"Yes, sir."_

Esserec headed out of the huge inspection chamber, resisting the urge to adjust his tunic. Theo's heavy tread followed at his heels. "Unusual setup for a legion," Esserec said lazily, turning down the long, cramped corridor and opening the heavy durasteel door to the brightly-lit briefing room. "I don't think I've ever seen one that disciplined before." He slid into the chair furthest from the door, allowing his posture to relax. He bit his thumbnail, waiting for Theo to reply.

_"Lord Vader personally oversees the selection of the men,"_ Theo said, standing warily near the table. _"And our disciplinary techniques are . . . different from standard."_

"Well, if Lord Vader does it, why should I wonder that it's the best?" Esserec smiled, seeing the door open to admit four 'troopers with orange shoulder patches. He stood. "Welcome, gentlemen. I was just complimenting the lieutenant on the orderly way the battalion is handled. My congratulations."

They mumbled their _thank-yous,_ glancing at Theo as if puzzled.

"I understand from Lord Vader that you've already received full briefing," Esserec continued. "I'll go over it again and take any questions, to be on the safe side." He took in a breath. "Company 501-2 will be landing planet-side a few miles from the Rebel base in a carrier, ready to move into the base once the 392nd has wiped out the Rebels. 501-4 will be joining an air division as backup . . . most of 501-1 will be held in reserve, in case the Rebels call in reinforcements. I understand that Lord Vader will be choosing a small division from 501-1 to be his personal guard - not that he needs one - and 501-3 will be joining Vader in a sweep of the base for certain wanted Rebels, among them Princess Leia Organa and Mon Mothma. Vader apparently wants the search under his personal supervision." He hesitated. "Any questions? No? Well, then I have one. What has Vader told you to do that I don't know about?"

There was a silence. The five 'troopers stood facing Esserec in identical stiff poses, staring (or so he assumed) just over his head.

Theo stirred, finally, and said, _"Darth Vader has given us no orders contrary to yours, __sir."_

"That doesn't answer my question," Esserec whispered, feeling sick again.

_"Is that all, sir?"_ Theo said.

"Not quite." Esserec took hold of himself. He glared sternly at the white-suited men. "Have any of you ever heard the name Skywalker?"

The four captains stirred, glancing uneasily at each other. Theo was stone-still. _"Why do you ask, Commander?"_

"Personal reasons," Esserec said. "He was a Jedi during the Clone wars."

There was another stiff silence, and Esserec began to fear that he would get no answer to this question as well. Then Theo said, _"You might ask Lord Vader about that name, Commander. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the man you're referring to."_

Esserec nodded. "Very well. During the flight, make sure your men are settled in, and if there are any major disciplinary procedures that need to be taken care of en route, contact me. Otherwise, I'll trust you to handle it yourselves." They nodded. "Then you are dismissed."


	4. Chapter 3: Trust and Doubt

In the dim chaos of the Tensor V base of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, only one place was quiet and dim. A section of the base had been set aside to house sleepy Alliance commanders, and this was made quiet with sound dampeners and thick walls.

Commanders, it was understood, need their rest. In an emergency, the area would become very loud, but in the absence of one, the only sound was usually the _bink_ing noise the failing light fixtures made.

The silence did not seem to bother the girl who was traversing the dim halls. She was an unusual child in this respect, and in others. She had wandered through the halls, following a call that pulled at her; she followed it absently—tugging at her long brown braid—with the ease of long practice. It did not occur to her to wonder what she was to do when she found the source of the call; the answer would be obvious when she reached it. Or so it had always been. As she walked, she argued with the air.

"You're being redundant now, grandfather," she told the wall sternly, stepping through it and into a dark room. Snoring issued from a bed in the corner, but she walked and talked on, unconcerned. "And you've said that many a time," she said sternly, still to no one. The sleeping woman did not stir, and the girl did not quiet her tone, knowing that the woman could not hear. "For that is what redundant means. Isn't it time you moved on?"

After a pause, she said indignantly, "I shouldn't! I'd be quite happy." As she said this in reply to an inaudible query, she walked through several more walls and finally found herself in the place that she was supposed to be. It was another dark room, this time empty of occupants. "Wonderful, I suppose this happens often?" she said grumpily, glaring around the room. "I _am_ being patient," she snapped at her unseen opponent. "But how am I – oh."

This last word, spoken with some surprise, came because, at that moment, the door opened and a man entered. "Now, no need to tell me who _he_ is," the girl said, her voice a whisper. "He's got his father's eyes. . . Yes, I really ought to."

She was still for a moment, watching as the man flipped on the light, revealing that he was rather short and wearing a gray jumpsuit, with blond hair that fell into his brilliant blue eyes. He glanced around the room, a line between his eyebrows. Although he could not see or hear the girl, he seemed to sense that someone was there.

"Hello?" he said.

The girl was silent for a moment, and suddenly all about her changed. Where before the light had not touched her, it now fell upon her, revealing her to the man's astonished gaze. And from within, another light burned---a glowing blue haze that surrounded her like a nimbus.

"Hello, Luke," she said with a smile.

He took a step backward, probably to escape the room, but then he looked more closely. His eyes widened. "You're a—a—"

"Force ghost," she supplied. "I imagine that's the term you're searching for. I was sent by Obi-Wan."

"Ben?" he said. He had taken a few steps to sink onto the bed, still looking at her in amazement; but at the mention of his old mentor's name he looked suddenly pained. "Where is he? Why didn't he come himself? . . . I've been calling for him, there's something . . ."

"Yes?" she queried brightly.

He dropped his head to stare at the floor. "I need to talk to him."

She nodded sympathetically. "I imagine finding out that your father is a Sith Lord can be a bit alarming. Obi-Wan sent me to help you because he thought I might be of more use to you."

Luke stared. "You know?"

"Luke." She spoke reprovingly. "I haven't even introduced myself properly." She paused. "You may call me Rosa," she said imperiously. "Before I died in the Jedi Purge, I was Master Kenobi's Padawan."

"But you're so young," Luke said, sounding horrified.

She shrugged. "Older than many. I knew your father quite well; he was, you might say, my brother. We were Obi-Wan's 'children,' in a way."

Luke seemed about to say something, but checked himself. "I didn't know Jedi saw it quite that way," he said instead.

"The Jedi were the only family many Force-Sensitive children knew," she said. "But we're getting off the subject, which is your concerns about your actual paternal heritage. I'm here to answer your questions, Luke. Anything that I can, anyway." She settled herself on the bed next to him, and he gazed at her out of pain-filled eyes.

His voice came out huskily. "Is he my father?" he choked out.

"Yes," she answered simply.

"But what woman would . . ." He trailed off, and his eyes sharpened. "My mother. Who is my mother?"

Rosa squinted into the distance, listening to the voice of her "grandfather." "Ah, I don't really think I can tell you that. It's not something you need to know right now; there are dangers inherent with that knowledge."

"I'm not afr---"

"Not dangers to you." That made him pause. Rosa shook her head. "Ana - um, Vader still loves her, you know. As he would love you, if he were still capable. That boy always sought for attachment because he felt lost without it."

Luke had clearly never thought of Vader in this way before. He looked taken aback. "I know it's hard to think of him as human, under that frightful mask," she said understandingly. "But he was once a little boy who loved his mother, and a man with as many hopes and dreams as you. But everyone he loved is dead, Luke . . . and it's mostly his fault."

"Did Obi-Wan send you to tell me this?" Luke spat out. "You expect me to feel sorry for him? I've lost everything, too. He's the most evil man in the galaxy---or at least I think he must be---"

"Think, Luke, think. Sure, he's twisted, he's warped, but who did the twisting, what heat warped him? All men pass under the fire, but not all emerge whole." Rosa smiled, quoting her unseen grandfather _almost_ verbatim, to his chagrin.

"I don't understand." Luke was now twiddling with a corner of the blanket and clenching his teeth occasionally; whether against anger or tears she couldn't tell.

"That's because you aren't listening!" She sat up very straight, eyes glinting. "Luke, you need the perspective of a Jedi. Your father was once one of the best; possibly he would have become _the_ best, because of his power and strength---but he loved too deeply, and he couldn't see beyond his own fears. And when he was afraid, the subtle whispering of the darkness ensnared him. He's as much a prisoner as the rest of the galaxy is in the Emperor's net."

Luke looked away. "I know what you're trying to say," he said thickly. "There's still good in him. I—" He hesitated. "I felt that, on Bespin. I think it scared me the most of all. Because, if there's a spark, I, I have to fan it, don't I? I have to be the one to try and save Darth Vader . . ."

"He's my brother, Luke," Rosa said with a sad smile. "Underneath the armor and the helmet . . . he's my big brother who used to toss me in the air because he knew I hated it. Do what you can for him." She put out her hand hesitantly, then placed it comfortingly on his shoulder. She seemed relieved that her hand did not pass right through his shoulder.

"Tell me more." Luke's voice had become stern as he tried to hide his unruly emotions. "It - helps, hearing about him. When he was human, I mean . . ."

"Before the fire." Rosa twisted her slight frame absently, considering. "I mean the figurative fire, not the literal fire, although both figure largely in the story. In his story." She took a deep breath in preparation to begin her favorite activity - talking.

* * *

The Imperial fleet had been in hyperspace for three days now, and their goal was only hours away. Esserec had taken to wandering the halls, avoiding the gazes of those he passed, afraid he would see fear—or worse, pity.

So it was that he was pacing along one of the endless passageways when he heard a dull, heavy tread coming towards him, and looked up to see a looming, midnight figure bearing down on him. The breathing mask was gone, but the tightness of Vader's face spoke of a suppressed need for it.

Esserec backed against the wall, cringing away from the dark form so that not even the tip of the black cape touched him. When Vader had passed, he relaxed—as much as he could, anyway, under the circumstances—and followed the dark Lord of the Sith down the hallway.

"Pardon me, Lord Vader," he faltered, miserably aware of how uncertain he sounded, and woefully certain that Vader hadn't heard him anyway; the taller man's step did not slow. _Or perhaps he's ignoring me,_ Esserec thought.

"Yes, Commander?" Vader said testily.

_Must be something of a burden sometimes, being able to read minds,_ Esserec thought, then pushed thought away. Lengthening his stride, he caught up to the other man. Sensing that speaking caused Vader tremendous pain, Esserec didn't wait for the Dark Lord to speak first. "Sir, I realize this is forward, but my men . . . in the 501st . . . suggested that you might be able to help me with a, uh, problem." He chanced a glance up at the Sith Lord's face. Thrown into relief from an overhead glowpanel that they were passing under, his profile was hard as stone and as unreadable.

"You may proceed." Vader's voice was expressionless.

Esserec took a deep breath, hoping that it wouldn't be his last. _I must be insane to even be considering this . . ._ He stared at the floor, unable to look at that dark face anymore. "We were talking about a Jedi named Skywalker."

"What could you have to ask about that . . . person?" The wealth of loathing in Vader's voice brought Esserec's head up sharply. _He understands._

_  
_"He killed my mother's sister, Lord Vader. Without hesitation, without mercy; and Jedi" Esserec laughed humorlessly "were _supposed_ to be the keepers of peace, the light-bearers . . ."

Vader's eyes watched him. "Your mother? Her name?" Esserec thought that Vader's voice seemed a shade wary.

"Her name was Sola Naberrié," Esserec said, his back straightening proudly. Although he no longer bore that name, it was still a thing to be proud of.

Vader blinked, and Esserec had the distinctly disturbing impression that he'd thrown the Dark Lord off balance. Not something that happened often, he was sure. "Then your aunt was Padmé Naberrié," Vader said quietly. "The illustrious Senator from Naboo."

Esserec frowned. "Yes, actually, but her real name wasn't well known. How did you—?"  
"Not many know about the connection between Senator Amidala and Jedi Skywalker, either," Vader said, and his eyes were very cold as he looked at Esserec.

Esserec swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away from the man walking next to him. "But you know—you can tell me . . . is he alive?" he whispered through a suddenly dry throat.

Vader bowed his head, staring at his own boots as they paced along the immaculately shiny floor. He said shortly, "No. He died a long time ago. The Emperor made it his business to deal with Jedi Skywalker personally." He glared at Esserec. "And _I _deal with any Jedi scum who have slipped through our nets." He turned his gaze forward, his profile black against the passing lights. "If Jedi Skywalker yet lived---though he does not---I would kill him without a pause. You must be quick, if you plan to kill a Jedi, Commander."

"Yes, sir, I understand. Well, goodnight, sir." Esserec saluted gratefully, both for the honor and for the chance to escape, and he beat an orderly retreat down a crossing hallway at the earliest opportunity.

"Commander Wesseré." Halting, Esserec turned slowly, fighting down his fear, to face the Dark Lord once again.

"Sir?" he said neutrally.

"You should know—when you enter the base, if you apprehend a young man of medium height with fair hair . . . he is not to be harmed, Commander. Am I clear?"

Esserec swallowed. "Yes, sir," he managed.

"Good night, Commander." It was clearly a dismissal. Vader whipped around the corner, and Esserec stepped, shaking, into the nearest lift and rode it to level twenty.

He entered his room and stood there for a moment in the darkness, waiting for the drumming of his heart to slow. Then he lay down on the hard pallet and relaxed there for a while, pondering the enigma that was Darth Vader. Then, shrugging, he closed his eyes and slipped into his dreams.

_Naboo again. He berated himself mentally for his apparent obsession with the planet, which he had not visited since he had joined the Emperial Navy at nineteen. He also cursed himself for a fool at his eagerness to catch a glimpse of a certain pair of violet eyes._

_This time, as they zoomed across a verdant meadow gilded with wildflowers and crowned by an azure sky, he took in the lightsaber on her belt, the extreme agility with which she handled the speeder, even at these high speeds . . . all the things that marked her as a Jedi - and with all this, he could not bring himself to hate her. He even - impossibly - felt a surge of affection for her as she flicked a glance over at him, as if to make sure he was still there._

_The Other-Esserec_ _was completely, blissfully unaware of these unpleasant thoughts in Esserec's mind as he, too, watched her. She turned to smile at him, and then the world dissolved into black._

_Was he alone? It was hard to be sure, the darkness was so close and oppressive. The ground under his feet, which was warm and soft, devoured all sound, leaving his ears feeling empty after all the excitement. Feeling the need to be sure of Her nearness, Other-Esserec reached out with his mind (Esserec trembled at this new reminder of their unnatural skill) and searched for her. She was not where he thought she was, so he reached out further, searching . . . There were many other minds nearby, unfriendly, terrifying in their thoughtless hate, but nowhere Her._

_Slowly, alarm filled the mind of the Esserecs. She was gone. Standing slowly, Esserec started off to search for her. _The plan has gone wrong_, he thought, still half-puzzled._  
What are you doing? _Esserec was still terrified by just how near some of those frightening minds had been. Normal-Esserec didn't pay any mind, just as usual. His boots moved soundlessly on the soft surface, and he seemed to drift through the darkness like a dream. It was too quiet, not even the feel of minds_ _nearby. His feeling of unease grew, and he stopped, a prickle running down his spine. Didn't there used to be_ _people_ _near him?_  
_Suddenly, hands descended from out of the darkness and—_

_The dream changed, as dreams so often did, without warning and without reason. They (Esserec was half-glad to find that She was with him this time) were huddled in an enclosed space, rocketing upwards towards something that terrified them._

"_Esserec," she was saying, and Other-Esserec immediately knew that what she would say was important, because she had used his full name and not the nickname "Essie," "I want you to remember—"_

"_You don't need to say it, love, I know." He thought that, if she kept talking, all his resolve would falter and he would give up now._

"_No, I _need_," she began._

_And then their upward journey came to an abrupt halt. Esserec's head hit the ground, and stars exploded all around him. Darkness threatened to overpower him, but after a moment of dizziness, he threw it off out of sheer willpower. He emerged from the darkness into light—such blinding light._

_He felt blind and deaf, as if the world had suddenly vanished around him. He reached out to touch her—but she was gone. "No—no, no, no no," he whispered, scrabbling around him on the hard surface, still unable to see, or to hear, or to find her. He felt himself being pulled to his feet, and fought against the hands that held him, desperate to find her._  
"_It's all right, Essie, I'm here," she said from somewhere nearby, and he relaxed at the __sound of her voice, even though unfriendly arms were now roughly patting him down and pinning his wrists with stun cuffs. Then he was pushed, roughly, and half-dragged down a corridor. The brightness that had stunned him was now resolving into half-seen, blurred shapes, but he could see Her being pulled next to him, her robes a brown mass in his sight. But he could not feel her presence, he could not reach out to her._

_He was terrified._

_Then the light became, abruptly, darkness. He was thrown to the floor, landing hard, and lay there for a moment, panting._

_Then a cold voice spoke, and she was screaming . . . agony filled him - for he knew that voice . . ._

"NO!" Esserec sat straight up in bed, crying out before he was even awake. He cast around for a moment, dizzily certain that he was still in his dream—but the pain had passed, and after a moment, he couldn't even recall the voice, that voice which had filled his soul with dread.

And what had that feeling been, the sensation of blindness, of utter seclusion? He shuddered as he remembered the emptiness and the confusion. He could not understand it.

It took him several minutes to control the trembling of his body. He told himself, _I am Commander Esserec Wesseré of the Imperial Army . . . I am not a Jedi, and I do not know any women with purple eyes. I have never held a lightsaber . . . and why do I wish that I was, and that I did, and I had?_ He cast the thought to an unheeding galaxy, and then crouched on his bed, watching as the chrono on the wall ticked off the seconds before the _Executor_ would exit hyperspace and begin their attack on the Rebel Base.

* * *

Far away, on the same massive ship, Vader was also waiting. Pacing impatiently back and forth, he waited, occasionally stopping abruptly in his tracks and then starting again.

The door chime sounded. Vader wheeled about and, glaring at the door, growled, "Enter."

The man behind the door did as commanded, promptly; and if he felt any compunction about doing so, the emotion was well-hidden behind his white-and-black helmet. _"You called, sir?"_ Lieutenant Theo said crisply.

"You took your time, Lieutenant," Vader said, his tone disturbingly calm.

_"I beg pardon, my Lord,"_ Theo said warily. _"I was asleep when your summons arrived."_  
Vader dismissed the reply with a wave of his gloved hand. It is not unlikely that Theo's eyes behind the helmet followed this movement anxiously.

"Be more prompt next time," Vader said, and the anger behind his grayish-blue eyes blazed more intensely. "I have new orders for you."

Theo straightened. _"We are to abandon the mission?"_ he said.

"No, Commander; the mission stands. Is, in fact, more imperative than ever. These orders are for you alone."

_"Yes, sir._" If Theo was confused, he hid it well.

"These orders concern your new commanding officer, Esserec Wesseré," Vader said.

* * *

Theo left Vader's rooms with a thoughtful, meditative step, his mind swirling with thought. The thoughts of two minds, whirling around each other. When he entered the lift to return to his own rooms, Theo respectfully brushed away his thoughts and waited for orders. After another moment, they came.

_That fool, Vader. He's lost his senses over this boy._

_  
_Theo replied, _Do these new orders interfere with your plans, my Lord?_

_  
No. But it seems that the problem is even worse than I feared. Vader seems to wish that Luke think well of him . . . which is certainly sign of more interest than I had thought originally._

_  
Shall I take steps to take care of the boy, as well?_

_  
_There was quiet for a moment, as the other mind withdrew slightly to consider. Then came the reply: _No, I think that we'll continue with the original plan. But I cannot allow Vader to actually capture his son - at least, not until I can be present. The fool is too attached - it was always his weakness. You must take steps to ensure that Vader is not able to come near his son._

_  
_Theo was quiet, allowing different plans to filter through his mind for the benefit of the other. A dark chuckle came from the other mind. _And they said that you could never be as creative as a regular being. Very well, but keep collateral damage to a minimum. I won't be able to monitor you constantly, but I will alert you when the proper moment approaches._

_Yes, my lord,_ Theo murmured inside his mind, and then his thoughts were alone inside his head as the other presence withdrew.


	5. Chapter 4: Hope and Fear

After a long, sleepless night, Luke had still not internalized everything that Rosa's Force Ghost had told him. The thought of old Ben Kenobi forcing Darth Vader into a pit of lava and leaving him to die was difficult for Luke to picture, not to mention the idea of Darth Vader sans armor. He was thirsty for more, however, and suddenly the idea of leaving Rogue Squadron and returning to train with Yoda on the swamp planet Degobah no longer seemed so terrible. He wondered if Wedge would think him even more insane for saying so.

_Well, I _am _going to be a Jedi, and I promised Yoda I'd return to finish the training. Wedge understands that._

As he lay in the darkness, thoughts began running through his mind without conscious effort on his part. So his father had been a hero in the Clone Wars, just as he'd thought. And one of the most powerful Jedi the galaxy had ever seen. As Rosa had told her story, it had become clear that Vader was not the real evil, but the Emperor, whom Rosa spoke of as "Darth Sidious," with a note of loathing in her voice. Sidious had used Anakin's love of Luke's mother, whose name Luke still didn't know, as a way to trick and trap the young Jedi into becoming his slave. Once Obi-Wan had basically destroyed the evil Anakin's body, the half-man, half-machine Vader had become even more a slave to his evil Master. During the story, Luke had felt an emotion for the man that he had not expected to feel – pity.

_He's still evil,_ a part of his mind whispered. _The Emperor did his job well._

_  
But he must have good in him . . ._ Luke thought. _He didn't kill me._

He remembered the outstretched hand that Vader had urgently held out to him as he dangled helplessly above the pit.

_Come with me, my son . . . together we shall rule as father and son._

There was no comfort in that memory. Luke tossed restlessly in his bed. His mind, although clearer now that some of his fear of his father was gone, still felt foggy. _I'm just tired. Go to sleep, Luke._

But although he was very tired, and it was dark and cozy in his room, his mind would not let him sleep. He felt cold suddenly, and afraid.

He shot bolt upright on his mattress suddenly. _I'm not going crazy. I've felt this before. The Force . . . a warning . . ._

Reaching out, he sought the reason for his unrest. The base was quiet and still, most of the personnel having long since retired to their beds. Scattered movement, all of it innocuous . . . Luke turned his thoughts away from the base and into the emptiness of space. Still nothing. Was he imagining things?

But no, the warning came again, more urgent and dark. So dark and cold. Where had he felt that before.

With a shiver of fear, he knew. _Vader._

Reason flew out the viewport. All of Rosa's stories - the picture she had painted of a tragic, fallen figure, the feelings of pity and of understanding - melted from Luke's mind, leaving him shivering in the blackness. Vader was coming. He was coming for Luke.

_How long?_ His mind stuttered, turning to the Force for answers. The reply was ambiguous, but he got a sense of very little time. _So soon? I can't face him. Not now. We have to get out of here._

His head come up at this thought. _I have to tell someone. Rieeken. Leia. Anyone!_

Throwing aside his blankets, he began to run.

* * *

Leia was deep in sleep when Winter shook her gently awake.

"What is it?" Leia said, blinking sleep from her eyes and looking around the dark room.  
Winter held out a comm. "Urgent call from the Command Center."

Leia glanced in concern at Winter's face, but the other woman was implacable as usual. Taking the comm, Leia said into it, "Councilor Leia Organa."

A male voice from the other end said, _"Sorry to wake you, Councillor Organa. This is Commander Barid Mesoriaam. Would you mind coming down to the Command Center immediately, please?"_

"I'll be there in five minutes," Leia said, and cut off the communication. "Commander Barid Mesoriaam?" she said to Winter as she threw her dressing gown on over her white nightgown.

Winter's pale forehead creased as she searched her near-perfect memory for the name. "An Intelligence officer. A few years ago, he was captured by Hutts while on a mission and nearly died getting crucial information to the planet Dac. That's all I can think of."

"Thanks." Leia opened the door and hurried down the hallway to the lift. Her rooms were purposely situated near the Command Center in case of emergency, and less than five minutes later she entered the room into a scene of extreme agitation. The noise level in the dimly-lit area was muted, but tension was seething around everyone in the room like a swirling mist. There was much movement as white-garbed tech officers and comm operators hurried between stations, but the whole scene was strangely quiet and thus more disturbing. In the center of the hurricane was Luke, looking like a lost child as he stared quietly at nothing in particular. Leia drew in a sharp breath when she saw him, and turned to stare at a vaguely-familiar man with dark hair who came hurrying up to her. Barid Mesoriaam, she assumed. "What is Commander Skywalker doing here?" she said as he opened his mouth.

He closed his mouth and frowned. "That's why you're here, actually. He wanted to talk to you."

"And he couldn't come to my room?" Leia pulled at the sash of her robe irritably. "All right, I'll talk." She turned and headed across the room past banks of computers and softly-glowing tactical displays to where Luke stood. His face was drawn and pale, Leia saw, more so even than at dinner. As she drew close, his sad eyes came up to her face, and she closed hers against the blank apathy of his gaze. "Luke," she said, "what's the matter?"

He took a moment to reply. "The Empire's coming."

Leia's stomach lurched. _Already? I just finished unpacking._ Her eyes flashed open to look at his face. "How much time do we have?"

"Not long." He looked away. "You'd better call Rieeken."

For a moment, she longed to tell _him_ to call them, but stifled the childish impulse. Was this why she was here? Because of what Rieeken had done to him? She threw a glance at Winter, who understood at once and pulled out her comm. Leia nodded, throwing a significant glance at Luke, then hurried back to where Mesoriaam stood patiently, his expression strangely understanding as Leia approached. "Please tell me what's going on."

Mesoriaam glanced at Luke, who still hadn't seemed to notice them, but didn't waste any more time. "I'm sorry. I know it's a shock. Classic symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. I wanted to be sure before contacting General Rieeken---"

"I'm all right, really," she managed. "We don't have much time. My aide is calling General Rieeken."

Mesoriaam stared. "You don't mean that you believe him?"

Leia returned him stare for stare. "You mean you don't?"

Mesoriaam glanced across the room, where Winter had gotten Luke to sit down. He lowered his voice. "May I remind you, Princess, that Commander Skywalker's mental stability has come under question in recent weeks?" Mesoriaam's grey eyes bored into hers. "And that you yourself admitted that he was acting strangely?"

Leia swallowed, reminding herself firmly that Mesoriaam was _not_ the enemy. "I am aware of all of those facts, Commander," she said in her most steely voice. "But it was never Luke's _Jedi_ abilities that were under question. And no matter how upset he was about Han's . . . capture, I know that Luke would never lie or deliberately mislead us. If he believes we are under threat, then so do I."

The door _chizzed_ open, and she turned with a sigh to see General Rieeken enter with General Madine, both men looking serious and worried. "General," she said, stepping forward to intercept them and taking Rieeken's hands. He looked down at her, his eyes full of sadness. The sadness, she knew, that had been there ever since the destruction of Alderaan. "I know you can resolve this," she said softly. Rieeken smiled sadly, squeezed her hands, and looked over her head. Leia turned to see Luke standing near the computer banks, quiet and with eyes as sad as Rieeken's. Leia looked back at Rieeken. "He's telling the truth, Carlist," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I know it."

Rieekan's acknowledging nod was thoughtful as he freed his hands and continued on towards Luke. "Tell me everything that you know," he said in his deep voice. Leia felt a sense of deep relief at his willingness to believe her, and also that Mesoriaam hadn't had been ill-mannered enough to interrupt.

"I'm not certain how they found us," Luke whispered, his thought far away, "if they have a spy in our midst or . . .for all I know this could be complete coincidence, but I think Vader is the key . . .somehow. But they are coming. We are pretty short on time."

"_Vader?_" Leia wasn't aware that she was speaking until she heard the choked word escaping her lips. Fear caught her by the throat and she swallowed.

Luke's blue eyes met hers. "He's with them."

There was a silence. Then Rieeken gestured jerkily, and one of the tech officers turned with a pale face and typed rapidly on the computer. Immediately, red lights began flashing high up on the walls and a klaxon blared rhythmically. The Command Center became a hive of activity, with techs barking into comms and General Madine shouting orders. Leia took a step towards the nearest computer, staring with anxious eyes at the proximity alert. The system was empty of enemy ships, for now - but it could not last.

* * *

Luke felt strangely light-headed as he stared around the bustling Command Center. The noise was dull in his ears, a backdrop to his echoing, empty mind. The only reality was the cold of the floor seeping through the soles of his boots, and the light stabbing into his eyes. The only thing that he could feel was the oppressive darkness that was drawing closer every second. And the knowledge that he would have to face it.

He closed his eyes, holding at bay the horror that was making his fingertips cold. _No, Luke, _I _am your father._

_Ben, I don't know if I can do it. If I try to face him again . . ._ He cast the plea towards the grimy ceiling, grimly certain of what the answer would be. _Do, or do not. There is no try_. Yoda's voice in his mind was firm and admonishing.

_That's no help! How can I be certain when I face Darth Vader? Other than to be sure of utter failure and death . . . or the Dark Side._

_If that is what you set out to accomplish, then that is what you will achieve._

_  
You aren't being a lot of help right now._

_  
And whose fault is that?_

The voice was sharp, female, and definitely not Yoda. Luke's eyes flew open.

_Rosa?_

_  
Yes, it's me. Took you long enough._

_  
I didn't know that you could talk inside my mind._

_  
There's a lot of things that you don't know. I don't have time to teach you all of it, though._

Luke was suddenly reminded that they were sitting on the brink of a deadly Imperial assault. Also, that he was facing an imminent duel, at which more was at stake than merely his life. _Can you help me?_

_  
Will you let me?_

Her dry tone told him that she was not simply talking about a duel. _I don't know. I can . . . um. Try._

_  
Then I can 'try' to help. Your problem, Luke, is that you don't even know what you want help with. You want to change who your father is, and you want to avoid fighting Vader, partly because he's an extremely powerful Sith Lord, and partly because you can't even think about him without experiencing a sort of temporary mental breakdown, and partly - wait for it - because he's your father and you don't want to hurt him._

_  
Me? Hurt him? Yeah, 'cause I came real close to that last time._

_  
You cut his arm, didn't you? You underestimate yourself, Luke. Vader hasn't. And neither has the Emperor._

_  
_Luke said hesitatingly, _You're right, you know. I'm remembering that cave on Degobah. If I destroyed Vader - I don't know what it would do to me._

_  
He's evil, remember? Why would you feel bad about killing him?_ Rosa sounded supremely indifferent.

_I - I don't know. He's my father._

_  
Well, the sooner he's dead, the sooner you can forget that little fact._

_  
I don't want to kill him._

The inside of Luke's head was silent.

_That's good,_ Rosa whispered. _You might want to try holding on to that feeling._ Then she was gone.

"Skywalker." Luke turned, aware once again of the room that surrounded him, and the dark undercurrent of fear, a metallic taste on the tongue. General Rieeken stood eyeing him.

"You fit to command, Skywalker?"

Behind Rieeken, Leia turned, a crease on her forehead.

Luke stared at him, feeling once again the darkly horrifying presence of Vader. But, for the first time in several weeks, the presence did not cloud his mind with terror and indecision. Luke straightened. "Yes, sir."

Rieeken breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Then get your squad ready. Fly cover for the transports to get away. We're having to ration fuel, so you'll be boarding the _Home One_ before it leaves."

Luke saluted and ran out of the room, drawing on the Force for strength and to calm his fearful mind. Rogue Squadron had gathered in the lounge, as he had known they would, and he could see no fear in their faces.

"So, the alarm woke us up from our warm and comfy beds," Tycho said conversationally as Luke entered. "Better not be a drill, 'Mander."

Luke shook his head. "Not a drill. The Imperials are coming. They're here."

There was a stunned silence as this information sank in.

"How long do we have?" Janson said tersely.

"Only a few minutes." Luke let the words sink in, and began dispensing brisk orders. "We're to be ready to fly in less than seven minutes. There's not going to be a battle, Rogues, at least, not one that we can win. We can't do anything but hold off the worst of the fire, a diversionary force until our land troops can get out."

"No hope that they can hold their own down here?" Will Scotian asked.

"Not a chance." Luke knew that his father was coming for him, he could feel it like a shadow overtaking him, chilling him to his bones. "Vader's overseeing this one personally." Now everyone felt the chill, and he wished that he hadn't spoken.

"We're with you, 'mander," Zev Kabir said firmly, his dark eyes serious, and there was a chorus of yeas.

"Thanks," he told his squadron.

There was a mad rush for the door, and Luke was left alone. Except for Wedge. Rogue Two's arms were crossed, and his gray eyes glittered.

"You're flying with us, 'mander, aren't you?" Wedge said.

"Yes, Wedge, I am." Luke flashed his wingmate a quick grin and gestured. "C'mon, it's another battle against the Empire! Just like old times?"

Wedge slowly unfolded his arms, a twinkle coming into his eyes. "That bad, huh?"

* * *

The bridge of the _Executor_ also hummed with tension. They had passed the ten-minute mark, and arrival in the Tensor system was imminent.

Vader paced along the central walkway, and the shoulders of the techs in the crew pits were hunched. No one knew exactly what to expect when the coruscating blue of hyperspace melted into real-space. No one knew whether the Rebels would even be in the system. Men had died for less, aboard the _Executor._

Then, space flickered, and the fleet had arrived.

Vader stared out the viewport, watching with almost inhuman intensity as the planet drew closer. A flickering, almost as if glitter was gently lifting from the terrain, was slowly becoming visible. The Rebels were already in space and fleeing.

It was plainly obvious to everyone on the bridge that either there was a traitor in their midst or someone had failed . . . badly. They all waited in suspense and almost terror for Vader's next move, striving to do their jobs flawlessly at the same time.

Their commander turned slowly. An odd half-smile was on his scarred face, and his eyes were focused on something different than what was before them. He spoke - almost as if he was thinking out loud. "They knew in advance. Someone warned them."  
His smile broadened. "Excellent."


	6. Chapter 5: Calm and Anger

Luke flinched at a warning from the Force, and knew it was not a warning for him. A flash blinded him momentarily, and when his vision cleared, he saw debris drifting near the belly of the nearest Star Destroyer. Where Rogue Five had been a second ago.

"Will! Are you all right?" Luke's voice cracked on the last syllable, but he was too frightened to care.

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Will's usually-cheerful voice said shakily, _"Sort of. My - my left engine got fried when the TIE blew. Secondary damage to my turbolasers."_

_  
"Luke, you've got two of them on your tail," _Hobbie said tersely. _"I can't get there . . ."_

_  
_Luke threw his ship into a dive, just in time to avoid a salvo of red blaster-fire. "Two?" He clenched his teeth. "Make that three." As the TIE-fighters zoomed after him, he caught a glimpse of another X-Wing soaring across the star-studded sky towards them. "Three, _disengage,_ don't try to . . ." he said urgently, but then another explosion rocked his ship and he felt shock and fear from the cockpit of Rogue Three. "Tasha, are you okay?"

_  
"I'm, ummmm, I'm fine. Minor damage,_ _nothing too serious -_ _but my ship isn't as pretty as she used to be."_

"Just as long as you aren't fried," Luke said forcefully. "Find your wingmate; your right flank is completely open."

_"You owe me one, Skywalker,"_ Tasha said as her ship broke off and went pelting across the stars.

_"We can't spare fuel for daredevil stunts like that, Three,"_ Wedge cautioned from somewhere behind Luke.

"Cut the chatter, Rogues," Luke said firmly. "Concentrate on the fighters. The Super Star Destroyer is moving into position. We have to get the freighters away before that happens."

_"Freighters three and four are out of the gravity well already. If the Imps let them go---"_ Janson's voice was loud with tension.

_"They're concentrating on the _Home One_,"_ Hobbie said.

_"Wouldn't you?"_ Tycho said, his voice amused. _"Good call, by the way, Luke. Vader is definitely at the back of this one. Hammer blows . . ." _As he spoke, Rogue Nine blew three TIEs to smithereens, briefly illuminating the grey underbelly of the Star Destroyer moving ponderously through space above them.

_"Lucky for us we had a tip-off,"_ Zev murmured.

Luke began wishing that his flight mates hadn't mentioned Vader. In the heat of battle, it had been easy to ignore the blurriness at the back of his mind that was Vader's looming presence. Now, he suddenly felt as if he were underwater, plunged into an indistinct world of cold and panic. _Breathe, Luke,_ he told himself. _He can't hurt you from this far away. _But even so, he felt his father trying to reach him. Vader's mind reached out, searching, trying to convey meaning to his son as he had done when Luke was fleeing Bespin. Desperate to keep out of reach, Luke tried to concentrate on the battle in front of him.

He pursued a pair of TIEs through a maze of shrapnel and twisted transparasteel, using his knowledge from the Force and his piloting skill to direct his course, and tried to ignore the fact that Vader had finally succeeded in triangulating his position. Luke also tried to ignore the fact that his father was critiquing his flying ability, without even being fully conscious of doing so.

_A little slow on the trigger and throttle,_ was Vader's august opinion. _But other then that . . ._

_  
_Luke bit his lip and blew the last TIE into metallic dust. Then he became aware that someone was yelling his name over his helmet-comm.

_"Luke! Luke!!"_

He took a breath. "Wedge? Sorry, I was distracted . . ."

_"So I noticed. Hey, we've got a problem over here._"

* * *

The silence in the cramped drop ship was eerie. Esserec, although used to iron discipline among stormtroopers, had become accustomed to a little noise, especially just proceeding dangerous maneuvers. Idle chatter - stress reliever. It happened all the time, and most people ignored it. Better to have a little noise than to have frightened men with no outlet for their fears.

But he was among the 501st now. And the silence was dreadful.

Esserec wiped a hand against his forehead, pushing his grey cap back and running his fingers through his damp, curly-brown hair. _It's so hot in here,_ he thought.

He turned his head slightly to look down the length of the long, narrow drop ship. The lighting consisted of three dim, red-tinged lamps set into the ceiling and a light strip along the floor beside the edge of the seats that ran along the walls. The stormtroopers' white armor glowed, ghostly, in the light. All of them were sitting stiffly at attention, guns held by their sides and cannons strapped to their backs, and all were staring straight across the aisle. Still as statues.

All but one. Esserec blinked nervously as he saw a blank, white-helmeted head returning his stare. The contrast of white-on-black was so mesmerizing, especially in the dim light, that it took him a moment to see the orange shoulder patch and realize that he was looking at his own second-in-command, Lieutenant Theo. Theo didn't look away, even after a moment of staring, so Esserec finally dropped his gaze. It was then that he noticed that Theo's gun was not held rigidly at his side - it lay across his lap, and his white-armored hand was resting lightly on it.

Esserec swallowed. He was almost glad when, a second later, the order came over the comm to begin their landing.

* * *

Vader was pacing impatiently across the width of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back, completely focused on the thing that had been monopolizing his every thought for months now - his son. Luke was so close - closer than Vader had come since the encounter on Bespin Mining Station - flying desperately through a maze of TIE-fighters and mind - so alive, so vibrant, so awake to the Force - it glimmered brilliantly in the vision of Vader's mind. Impatience filled the tall, dark man's every movement. _Soon, Luke,_ he promised, _you and I will meet. And this time, you will not escape._

"My lord?"

Vader turned, keeping a part of his mind focused on the spark of light in the Force, and faced Firmus Piett, a tall, skinny man with a perpetually worried expression. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but we've done as you ordered - all firepower has been trained on the Mon Calamari battleship, and the _Accuser_ and the _Devestator_ are on an intercept course with it, as well."

Vader smiled, and Piett hid a shiver. "Excellent work, Admiral."

Piett hesitated. "Forgive me, my lord, but the transports? We are not going to try to apprehend them?"

Vader brushed off the thought with a wave of his gloved hand. "They are unimportant. Concentrate all fire on the Mon Calamari battlecruiser, Admiral. Let the transports go."

Twitching forward, Piett said urgently, "But, my lord, they contain thousands of -" Vader turned a cold blue gaze on the commander of his fleet. Breaking off, Piett took a step backwards to compose himself. "Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. Shall I have the TIE-fighter squadrons disengage the X-wings and rake the Mon Calamari ship's hull?"

"No." Vader smirked. "You will instruct the TIE-fighter pilots to do something very different."

* * *

Luke pulled his X-Wing into a sharp turn and headed back towards the _Home One_. "Yes, we do have a problem," he murmured. The Super Star-Destroyer, instead of heading towards Tensor for orbital bombardment, was now on an intercept course with the _Home One_ --- and closing.

"They can still get away," he said. "_Home One,_ you can still make it to hyperspeed before they can get a lock on you."

_"Luke, they'll just blast them out of the sky."_

"If destruction was what they wanted, they could have done it long ago." Luke ground his teeth. Vader. "They'll try a tractor beam, and that's got a much shorter range."

_"You know they can't hold off those Star Destroyers long enough to make the jump,"_ Tasha said, her voice steely. _"They're even ignoring the transport ships. What the blazes is so important about the _Home One_?"_

_  
_Her words brought two and two together in Luke's mind, and they made an electrifying combination. He felt the blood draining from his cheeks. "That's the ship we're supposed to be flying out on," he whispered. He watched in horror as the TIE-fighters swarming around the other transports also broke away and began attacking the _Home One._ Even as heavily shielded as it was, he knew that the Mon Calamari battleship could not last much longer against the heavy firepower trained on it. And even as he reached that conclusion, he knew that he couldn't allow it to happen.

"Rogues, pull back." He suited the action to the words, curving his ship away from the _Home One_ and towards the dark planet below.

The comm was silent. Then Wedge said, _"Luke, we can't. We have to help them."_

_  
"And besides that, they're our ride out of here," _Hobbie put in.

"Trust me, we have to do this," Luke said. "This is the only way that we can help." He waited until most of the squadron had formed up around him, then switched his comm to a channel to the bridge of the _Home One._ "Admiral Ackbar?" he said.

A moment later, the admiral's gravelly voice echoed in his helmet. _"Commander Skywalker?"_

Luke took a deep breath. "Admiral, can you hold out for a minute longer?"

_"Without your help with the fighters?"_ Ackbar's voice was strained.

"Once we're far enough away, you won't have to worry about the TIEs. Or the Star Destroyers, I bet."

_"What do you mean?"_

_  
_"I can't explain . . . but they'll follow us. I'm certain of it. At least some of them. Hopefully enough for the _Home One_ to get away." Vader's presence was making his stomach roil, but he tried to keep his tone even. "Just let us get far enough away, and then get out of here."

There was a moment of silence. Tense, dangerous silence. A precious moment. Then Ackbar said shortly, _"We can hold them off for that long. Farewell, Commander."_

"See you," Luke said, and switched channels to his squad's again.

_"Skywalker, are you _crazy_?"_ Rogue Three, obviously, was seething.

_"Yeah, Luke, I really don't understand what's going on here,"_ Datch said.

Luke was about to reply when Vader responded. A brilliant green laser bolt sizzled through space near the squadron, and then another.

Wedge said breathlessly, _"One of the Star Destroyers has broken off in pursuit, along with a full three squadrons of TIEs . . . oh, and here comes the other one . . ."_

_  
"You realize this is going to be a short battle."_ Janson's usually cheerful voice sounded like a cyborg's.

"He knows we're heading for the planet," Luke said. "He thinks we're going to land, he knows our fuel is low, presumably he's already got ground troops waiting for us - "  
_"Who is 'he'?"_ Tasha demanded. _"If you're talking about Darth Vader, you are failing to comfort me. And I for one would like to know why he cares more about capturing an X-Wing squadron than he does destroying one of the Alliance's capital ships."_

"Not a squadron." The words slipped out of Luke before he could edit the thought.  
There was a silence.

Then, _"Luke, you're scaring me,"_ Tycho said quietly.

Hobbie snapped, _"Has everyone else forgotten about those TIEs?"_

_"They're coming fast!"_ Wedge was suddenly all business. _"Too many vectors to . . . stay sharp, Will! Your primary engine's out, remember?"_

_"Rogue Leader, we can't hold them all off for more than a few minutes. Especially not with the kind of backup they've got coming."_

Luke spared a second of attention to see that the huge Super Star Destroyer was now moving ponderously towards them, and that the _Home One_ was fleeing. "We don't want to get caught in a dogfight, that's clear," he said. "We'll try to get around the planet and make the jump from there."

_"Our fuel won't take us far,"_ Wedge replied.

"If it's away from here, it's far enough for me," Luke said, and felt their agreement. At that moment, the TIE-fighters descended.

They seemed to be everywhere, spitting red fire and dodging with stunning agility. The X-Wing's formation split apart to meet this threat with fire and speed, and for a few moments Luke's entire attention was bent on surviving the attack for as long as possible. It was difficult.

"Head for the atmosphere," he ordered. "We'll see how those TIEs hold up to the friction."

Rogue Squadron seemed to think that was a good idea. Oddly enough, so did the TIEs. They seemed to be positively herding them downwards . . .

"Second thought," Luke said, "I think they're a bit too eager to go. Let's see if we can break away." He glanced around, trying to spot a thin spot in the TIE's formation.

_"There! Nearest Seven and Eight,"_ Janson said.

Luke nodded. "Good call, Six. Okay, Rogues, time to shake these kath hounds."

In unison, the squadron wheeled from their vector and, spitting crimson laserfire, began to break through the surrounding TIE-fighters. Green bolts splattered across Luke's shield, and a red light began blinking on his screen. "Watch out for those fighters above you, Four," he cautioned. "Five, get out; I'll cover you."

_"Watch out for the Star Destroyers!"_ Datch said suddenly.

The Force seemed to scream a warning at him just as a bolt of green flame sheared through the dogfight, coming from directly above Luke's canopy. As he watched in horror, the bolt sliced neatly through Rogue Eight's left s-foil. Metal seemed to explode outward, and the X-Wing spiraled out of control directly into a passing TIE-fighter.

Time seemed to slow as Luke watched the resulting fireball expand, then retract as the limited supply of oxygen inside the two ships was depleted.

_"Zev!"_ Janson called out, but it was obviously too late.

"Seven, talk to me," Luke commanded. He could hear Kasan's heavy breathing over the comm and felt her presence in the Force, but he knew that something was wrong.

_"The blast - it did some damage to my cockpit._ _Hairline cracks."_ Kasan's voice was tinged with panic. _"I'm venting."_

_"To top off our list of disasters, I'm running out of fuel,"_ Tycho said through his teeth. Luke swallowed hard, knowing that the same would be true for every Rogue there. In the back of his mind, he felt Vader's satisfaction, as if the Dark Lord were watching their every move. The message was clear - _stray from the path I set before you, and your friends will die._ And Luke knew that he could not let any more of them die for him. Not like this. He spoke bitterly, the metallic tang of defeat on his tongue. "Right. Head for the ground. Tycho, you stay with Seven. Will, just stick with me."

_"All right,"_ Will said.

* * *

Vader watched as the starfighter that contained his son entered the atmosphere. All was going as had planned.

He spun in a swirl of inky cloak. "Prepare my shuttle," he ordered at random, knowing that the order would be obeyed. He strode out of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back.

Halfway down the corridor to the lifts, all the lights went out. After a moment of utter darkness, an emergency panel flickered, then went dead. As he stood in a blank void, lit only by the faint glimmer of starlight out the nearest viewport, Vader sent his thought searching throughout his massive flagship, searching - the power was gone completely, everywhere. Even the two _Imperial-_class Star Destroyers, the _Devestator _and the _Accuser_, were gliding, blankly, powerless, through space.

Turning, he began to stride back towards the bridge, fury seething in his mind. _Those blasted Rebels - I'll take great pleasure in wiping them all out when I've got my son. My son. Luke._ He stopped and stood for a moment, irresolute. _He's going to get away. My fleet is useless. But the shuttles, they should still work._ Turning again, he began to run, faster than any mortal could have matched. The dark hallways had begun to fill with frightened stormtroopers, officers, pilots, and technicians, but Vader ignored them all. _My son._

His anger, which had been simmering, came to a fresh boil when he realized that the lifts were completely dead. He cut the door open and glared down the vertical shaft, which was so dark that he couldn't see beyond a few feet. Turning a swirl of inky cloak, he collared a nearby technician, who shied back violently and tried to escape his grasp. Vader choked him for a moment, then released him to the floor, where he rolled, coughing.

"The floors. How thick are they?" Vader said emotionlessly.

The tech stared up at him in terror. "Th-three meters, my lord," he gasped. "Y-your specifications - against lightsabers . . ."

Vader ignited his lightsaber with a growl, which caused everyone within view to back away and suddenly remember urgent appointments on the other end of the ship. "Be grateful I don't have much time," he whispered to the tech, "or I'd watch you strangle." Turning away from the cowering man, he glowered down at the floor. Three meters. As he set to his task, he thought, _I wonder how the Rebels did this . . ._


	7. Chapter 6: Insight and Ignorance

Dust floated in the air, raised by the passage of many feet pounding on the floor. Esserec held his blaster loosely in one hand, listening carefully, but all he heard was silence. He turned his head for the twentieth time, checking to make sure that the 501st was really still there, and marveled once again that a regiment of stormtroopers could be so quiet.

_"Sir, someone ahead. Several someones." _Theo's voice fell flat in the silent tunnel.  
Esserec listened intently, and then he caught the distant sound of low voices and the whine of repulsorlifts. "Ours?" he suggested.

Theo probably shook his head; Esserec wasn't watching. _"Negative. It's likely the Rebel X-wing squadron - they were forced to land near here._ _We still can't raise any of the Star Destroyers to confirm."_

Esserec tightened his grip on his blaster. "Well, we can handle a fighter squadron. Keep trying to make contact with the _Executor_." He was feeling distinctly uneasy about this whole business.

The 'troopers hung back, however. As Esserec stared, someone said hesitantly, _"But that's Rogue Squadron---"_

"What does that have to do with anything?" Esserec snapped, his own unease exacerbating his bad temper. "Elite pilot rarely means elite marksmen. You're the 501st! I wouldn't expect such cowardice from a lot of Neimoidians."

_"But Lord Vader . . ."_ The 'trooper who spoke fell silent abruptly. Theo had not turned, but his hands were clenched into fists. The entire squadron was silent, their heads tilted as if they were listening to helmet chatter. After a moment, Theo said briskly, _"Apologies, sir. Disciplinary problem. I've taken care of it. We're ready to move out."_

Esserec bit the inside of his cheek, hard. _Secret orders._ "Then let's go."

They moved out down the dark, wire-strewn corridor, silent and watchful. The noise that the Rebel squad made grew more distinct, and so did the bad feeling in the pit of Esserec's stomach. He took in long, deep breaths. _What's the matter with me? I'm not usually so nervous before a battle . . ._

He nearly tripped over a flight of stairs leading upward and towards the sounds of Rogue Squadron. Regaining his balance, he murmured, "Stairs," to warn those behind, and led the way upward.

Ahead, light poured into the dark stairwell from a door set a few inches above the floor. Esserec glanced back at Theo and gestured in the direction of the door, and his second-in-command nodded. The squadron was inside that room, and the fact that they had carelessly left the door open meant that they knew they had company and were planning a surprise welcome.

Surprise_,_ Esserec thought sarcastically, _but we're not exactly idiots._

* * *

Luke tensed, feeling the Imperial reach his decision. Wedge glanced at him, holding his blaster tightly as, if for comfort.

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

Luke shook his head, saying quietly, "I can't read his thoughts, sorry. That usually only works if I have a strong connection with another person."

"Can you read _my_ thoughts?" Janson whispered, his eyes darting all around the grey hangar, blinking at the strong sunlight that poured in through the open roof and glinted off the catwalk that ran halfway up, all along the wall.

"No so much _read_ them . . . hang on." Luke flinched as the emotions of the stormtroopers and their commander washed over him. "Any news on the rest of the Alliance?" he asked, trying to cover up the involuntary movement.

"The Imps are jamming us," Janson replied. "We're still trying."

"Where are they coming in, Skywalker?" Tasha said from close by Luke's shoulder.  
_Why does she always call me that?_ Luke wondered with a trace of irritation. "Still don't know," he replied. "The commander's pretty good at hiding what he's thinking."

"That's a Jedi thing, right?" she said.

"What, hiding your thoughts? Not necessarily. Just takes some mental discipline." He shuddered. "I really don't like those stormtroopers. They're too well-trained. Okay." He paused. "They're splitting up. Two-pronged attack. Or . . . maybe more than two."

"What?" Tycho's head came around. "That's not normal stormtrooper protocol."

"The leader is very creative . . . and smart." Luke left his probing of the commander's mind and shrugged. "Not a bad combination in an infantry commander." His blaster was cold in his hand. He glanced down at it. _I miss my lightsaber. I could make mincemeat out of these drones with it._

"Luke, that's not the point. The point is, there's only the nine of us." Wedge was trying to look both ways at once. "We can't fight off any kind of attack, much less one that's two-pronged or possibly more."

"Well, we left the doors open, didn't we?" Luke grinned. "That should make them cautious. Hopefully cautious enough to give us the edge. And my guess is a commander like theirs should be hesitant to sacrifice any of his men."

"Altruistic as well. I'm dying to meet this guy," Tasha muttered.

* * *

_"Set the charges here,"_ Theo directed, _"and here. On the stress points."_

Esserec nodded. "Excellent. Wait until you hear the fighting start, Lieutenant. Maybe we can catch them by surprise."

Theo nodded. _"Maybe."_

Turning, Esserec signaled for his section of the 'troopers to head back down the hallway. Even their running was silent, he noted with disbelief. The doorway was still flooding the stairwell with light, and he wondered for a moment as they approached what the light source was. The power had been cut to the rest of the base . . .

Three 'troopers pulled ahead of him and began blasting through the door, still running. Esserec ran through the doorway, the light so blinding that he was unable to see any details for a second. The room was extremely large, square, and open to the sunlight - another hangar. A dozen X-wing fighters crouched on the floor below them - they had emerged onto a catwalk that ran around the perimeter of the room, and the Rebels were thirty feet below, hidden behind their starfighters and firing rapidly up at him and his troops. "Keep moving!" he called, turning and running towards an enclosed lift at a corner of the room, blasterbolts melting the metal at his heels. He dove into the lift, slapped the "Down" button, and turned, breathing heavily, to see that his 'troopers had not followed his instructions. They were still crouched near the door, firing down at the Rebels below. "Idiots," he snarled, slapping the button again to relieve his feelings.

A sudden blast set his ears to ringing, and the lift jerked in its downward motion. Shrapnel bounced against the sides of the lift, and he heard several pained cries from the direction of the Rebel fighters. Then the blasterbolts began in earnest, many of them hitting the wall of his lift. _Blasted bad shots,_ he muttered inwardly. The lift banged to a halt, and he dove out. Strangely, no blaster shots followed him, and he realized why a second later.

Theo and his troops had blown a hole in the wall opposite the door, and were pouring out, red bolts flying from their BlasTech DLT-19 and E-11 rifles, mostly concentrated on a single X-wing atop which a lone figure stood defiantly - apparently weaponless.  
_What's that idiot Rebel _doing? Esserec rolled to his feet and stood still for a moment, uncertainly holding his blaster by his side. The shooting was decidedly one-sided; apart from the one, no Rebels were in evidence. And that Rebel ought to be dead by now - but somehow, all of the shots from his troops were missing. Everyone in the room apart from Theo and his men were standing mesmerized as the hail of red light danced around the young man, close enough that their passage ruffled his longish blond hair . . .

_Young man . . . fair hair . . ._ Suddenly it clicked. _He is not to be harmed . . ._ _He's a _Jedi, Esserec suddenly realized. _That's why he's not being hurt – or are my men missing on purpose? What kind of man could just stand there and watch the bolts fly past?_

Esserec looked up at the balcony, wondering what his 'troopers up there thought they were doing, and saw that they had been working their way along the catwalk and were now opposite from him - and they were targeting the Rebels hiding among the X-wings. One of the women looked up and saw them as well - she turned, firing blindly, uselessly, up at the catwalk, and screamed at the Jedi -

_"Skywalker!"_

The blond Jedi turned and, with the sort of precision that no sharpshooter could match, shot two blasts. With a screech of stressed metal, the catwalk buckled and his 'troopers fell, scrambling, and plummeted to the floor.

But Esserec noticed none of it. He was gaping like a fool, staring at the blond man.

_Skywalker._

He was standing right there, bold as brass, hair falling into his eyes as he brazenly defied the stormtroopers. The culmination of all of Esserec's long hatred, the hours of planning, was standing right in front of him; and Vader's warnings - the threats in his dark voice - flew out the window. Esserec raised his blaster, hand trembling, and aimed as steadily as he could. It would have been better, he reflected, for Skywalker to know who Esserec was and why he was about to kill him, but the shot was too perfect now to give it up.

Then he saw Theo, staring at him blankly, and noticed the blaster that his lieutenant was pointing in his direction.

Theo's blasterbolt sped towards him, brilliant red . . . time seemed to slow down . . .

Esserec gasped as pain rippled through him. This was nothing like his dream. _Nothing._ He felt his body hit the ground, heard the breath leave him in a tortured rush.

So different, yet so familiar. If he opened his eyes now, he'd see brilliant purple eyes staring down at him.

_Come on, _his mind whispered. _Where are you? _He kept his eyes shut a moment longer than he had wanted to, and oblivion rushed over him.

* * *

Luke was trying not to think. It made it easier to do as his instinct demanded if he did not listen to his doubting intellect.

That isn't to say that it worked perfectly---he couldn't seem to calm his feelings like he should have. Fear permeated his mind. Fear for his squadron. Fear of defeat. It was a dark cloud, a strong ringing in his mind that made it much harder to hear the guiding whisper of the Force.

It was also hindered if he considered how much of the battle rested on him. That brought on panic. As previously mentioned; Luke was trying very, very hard not to think.

Tasha yelled his name, drawing his attention to the stormtroopers on the catwalk. He had been aware of it before, but for some reason (he was almost stupid enough to question it)he had let it slide, waiting for her to remind him. It had been necessary. He could feel the cross-hairs of the black-suited commander's blaster centered over his torso, but did not turn to investigate, or to block. He was sure that would resolve itself.

It did, a moment later, when an apparently random stormtrooper shot the commander in the side. Curiosity broke Luke's concentration, and he turned to looked as the commander slowly slumped forward, the tip of his perfectly straight nose collecting dust off of the steel flooring as it slid across it. Luke stared hard into the faceplate of the nameless stormtrooper who had just saved his life, and wondered . . . why?

He focused all his thoughts on the strange 'trooper, not trying to discern his thoughts, only to fix the sense of it his head so that he would be able to recognize him later. Beneath this were strong feelings of loyalty and . . . nothing else. The stormtrooper was intelligent, yet did not think for himself.

And a sense of overwhelming strangeness washed over him— the mind was human— but a much different human then Luke was used to. There were no emotions, only a cold planning and efficiency. Whatever this being was, he never did anything by accident - so whatever the reason was for shooting his own commanding officer, it was not some heated impulse. It had been coolly planned, calmly timed, and coldly executed. And that intrigued Luke.

Opening his mind to the Force, Luke let the power flow through him as Yoda had taught. His mind was extending, filling the hangar. He felt, all at once, the determined and focused minds of his Rogues, the calm professionalism of the stormtroopers - and beyond. Somewhere not far was the darkness and brooding menace of Darth Vader. He was aware of Luke, and he was coming.

Gathering power, Luke leaped in an arc that took him behind the front line of 'troopers, and, landing in their midst, began to deal death among them. Utilizing the techniques that he had learned from Yoda only a few short weeks ago, he tugged at the Force, pulling blasters out of clenched fists, smashing 'troopers into the walls, and pelting the remainder with objects pulled from the walls and off the floor. Behind him, he heard the other members of Rogue Squadron scrambling to follow, their shots hissing through the air all around him.

The call for retreat came suddenly, after only a few moments, and Luke stood in surprise, blaster dangling from his fist, as his Rogue's fire splashed hounded the white-suited fighters as they fled back through the hole they'd blasted in the wall. The last to leave was the commander, with the orange patch on his shoulder. He paused in the gap, turning his helmeted head towards Luke. They stood there for a second, the black-garbed boy looking fiercely at the black-and-white patterned helmet with blazing blue eyes. No, that man - if man he was - never did anything by happenstance. As he vanished, Luke caught the tail end of a slight worry in the stormtrooper's mind . . . His shot had taken the commander too low in the chest - he had missed the heart.

Rogue Squadron stood quietly, blasters still pointed at the hole, but there was no noise except for the clanking of boots fleeing down the hallway outside.

"So, what now, Rogue Leader?" Wedge said with a half-smile.

"Time to go," Luke said, turning to the door, set high up in the wall. The catwalk on that part of the wall was still sound, he judged. After that, it was merely a matter of evading Vader and escaping Death Squadron.

"You make it sound so easy," Hobbie grumped.

They headed for the lift, which had been hammered by shrapnel and blasterbolts but which was still serviceable. On the way, Luke paused by the fallen black-suited commander. The man was still alive.

"What d'you want with him?" Kasan was curious. So was Luke.

"We'll take him," he told them.

There were a few questioning glances, but Tycho and Wedge helped Luke get the comatose man into the lift and along the catwalk to the door. They paused to glance back at their X-wings, thirty feet below, grimy with dust from the explosion and blackened with stray blaster shots.

"Seems strange to leave 'em behind," Will said softly.

Tasha shook out her mane of blonde hair. "We'll be back for them."


	8. Chapter 7: Devotion and Dislike

_He was trapped in the same dream, which had never happened before. Even the dream-Esserec was slightly troubled by this, and his attention was not fully on Her as she chattered on about her vision of some man. His eyes scanned the street, the feeling of unease growing stronger._

_She caught his arm and fixed him with a penetrating glare. "Essie, you're not listening to me," she said reproachfully._

"_I'm sorry, dear, I—"_

_Then the shooting started, as he had known it would. She let out a cry, and he glanced down in horror at the smoking hole in her side. "Go!" she gasped, thrusting her lightsaber into his hand before falling to the ground. Dream-Esserec didn't allow himself to be distracted by this, but instead ran forward into the attack, blaster bolts scattering off his shining blades._

This isn't how it's supposed to happen! _The thought, from the Normal-Esserec, frightened the dream-Esserec, and his rhythmic defense faltered._ Hurry, idiot, or you're going to die! t_he Normal-Esserec thought savagely_.

_A moment later, it was all over. Naboo guardsmen were dealing with the last of the attackers, and Dream-Esserec dropped to his knees by Her side. She was still breathing, at least. "Back away!" he said sharply to the curious crowd, who were pressing in. Then he laid a hand on the wound and his eyes slipped closed._

_Energy surged around him, and the air around his hand began to change subtly._  
_The power was there, as Esserec had always dreamed it might be, and it sang through the joined minds like a ripple of falling water._

_She breathed a little more deeply as their thought manipulated her wound, drawing out the pain, knitting together bone and tissue._

_The amethyst eyes blinked open. She looked at them. "Essie?" she said._  
She's alive, _the Normal-Esserec breathed in awe._ I saved her life.

_And then, as relief washed over them, everything changed._

He half-woke, aware of voices all around him, and of cool hands on his arm, pinching him. A pain jabbed into the soft flesh in the crook of his elbow, and a groan emerged from deep within his chest. He heard, dimly, the sound of another's voice in his mind, crying out from the unexpected feeling, and he jerked, astonished. The movement cause ripples of pain to spread across his body, a wave of pure agony that washed him quickly under. Gratefully, he sank once again into his dream.

* * *

Hobbie looked up from the Imperial's livid face and shook his head at Luke. "I gave him something for the pain, but . . . I've never seen anyone recover from a wound like that."

Janson was practically dancing with impatience. "Luke, we have to keep moving! Just dump him here, he's not our problem. The Imperials will find him. They have better medical facilities anyway."

Luke took a deep breath and let it out. "Just trust me. We need to take him . . . I have a feeling he'll be useful later on."

Everyone was staring, most looking slightly annoyed. "Luke, it's not that we don't trust you," Tycho said, glancing down at the black-clad man on the floor, "but he'll never tell us anything even if he does wake up."

"And he's heavy," Datch put in.

Luke didn't answer. He was feeling as frustrated as they were - the man kept crying out in pain, and he was worried enough with the looming presence of Vader somewhere close. For a moment he struggled with himself, wanting to just do as Janson said and leave the dark-haired stormtrooper captain on the floor to die . . . but the Force pushed back at him, a warning and a promise. _Take him, you need him . . ._

"He comes," Luke said, in a tone that permitted no argument.

Tycho sighed, and Wedge clapped him on the back. "You heard the 'mander," Wedge said, gray eyes twinkling. "I'll help carry him this time. Help me, Datch."

* * *

Lieutenant Theo crouched beside opening that the battalion had blasted in the wall, listening tensely. The Rebels - including the Jedi - had taken Commander Wesseré and were now exiting the hangar. He turned to look at his second-in-command, 501-2, nicknamed Radar.

_"I'm still unable to reach the _Executor_,"_ Theo said. _"There must be a problem, because we shouldn't get that much interference this close to the surface. Get to the shuttle and get above the atmosphere - see if the problem continues. If it does, then wait for instructions."_

_"Sir -_" Radar said, sounding slightly concerned, _"What about Commander Wesseré? Are we just going to leave him with the Rebels?"_

_  
"Are you questioning my orders, One-Two?"_ Theo said blandly.

A silence. _"No, sir,"_ Radar said, voice expressionless again.

_Good,_ thought Theo. _"Take the men and have them circle around and return to the hangar with the shuttle."_

_"Yes, sir."_ Radar hesitated. _"You're not coming, sir?"_

_"Our orders are still outstanding."_ Theo said in clipped tones. _"You're to lead this wing of the group until other orders are given."_

"_Understood, sir."_ Radar saluted, then turned and disappeared into the gloom to where the rest of the 'troopers were waiting. Theo waited until his helmet-enhanced hearing no longer registered the soft clicking of their boots against the floor, then turned his mind to a corner where that other presence was waiting.

_You've been compromised,_ it told him coldly. _You let him see what you are._

_With your permission, my Lord,_ Theo replied, _he's too young to understand whatever it was that he saw._

_Even children have heard stories,_ the voice said in a silky whisper. _Don't try to excuse your carelessness._

Theo struggled to hold on to his temper. _Forgive me, but I fail to see how I was supposed to hide my mind from a Jedi. That was never part of my training._

_You drew his attention. I can only protect you to a point, and you are drawing dangerously close to arrogance. What do you think will happen to you if Vader suspects who and what you are?_ The other mind stirred restlessly. Theo suddenly regretted that, although the other mind could probe every corner of _his _mind, he, Theo, could only see of the other what was given to him to see. _We shall have to modify the plan, now that young Skywalker can identify you . . ._

* * *

When the power on the immense flagship, the _Executor_, had suddenly gone out, everyone had sat silently in stunned disbelief for a moment, then leaped into terrified action, and then settled back down into a stupor of amazement and fear. Nothing worked. There was no hint of life anywhere in the system - even the emergency lights had failed to come on. Only hand-held datapads and personal communication devices still worked, for all the good they did anyone.

Everyone immediately tried to contact the engineering section of the ship, but the news was grim - there was no news, and no news, in this case, meant bad news. It was not merely an electrical failure, an engineer grimly reported to Admiral Piett, but some sort of highly sophisticated and wide-spread sabotage. Life support, everyone was told, would last for twenty hours. And before then, they had to have come up with some answers, or else the entire ship would have to be evacuated.

The blackness of the interior of the ship matched the dark mood of everyone aboard. Who could have done this? The Rebels? It seemed unlikely. Everyone knew that Vader personally monitored everyone aboard his ship, and the thought of some Rebels stealing aboard and committing such a devastating act of sabotage on all three ships was almost ludicrous. No, there had to be a traitor, and someone who had somehow escaped Vader's notice.

"He'll be in a foul mood," was the whisper. Everyone sat blinking in terror, jumping at shadows and running fingers between throat and collar. As the chill deepened, so did the fear.

In the bridge, Admiral Piett was visible by the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, illuminated by the starlight glimmering through the wide transparasteel windows. He knew that Vader was not on the bridge, but he kept hearing his cold voice saying: "You have failed me for the last time, Admiral," and he kept swallowing to reassure himself that he could still breathe.

"Excuse me, Admiral Piett . . ."

Piett jerked away from the dark shadow that had suddenly appeared at his elbow, and tried to cover the involuntary movement by wheeling around and saying

angrily, "what is it, Lieutenant?"

"Pardon me, sir," the young officer said, his face pale in the starlight. He held out a personal communication device. "Lord Vader wishes to speak with you."

Piett swallowed again and took the small black device from the young man. "Y-you called, my lord?" he said nervously.

The cold voice that issued from the speaker was definitely Vader's. _"Admiral Piett. I am taking a shuttle to the surface of the planet."_

"Still?" Piett couldn't help the plaintive note in his voice. "But my lord, this catastrophe . . ."

_" . . . will resolve itself. The capture of the Rebels is much more urgent."_

_You weren't thinking _that _when you let those two transports escape, not twenty minutes ago,_ Piett thought. "These particular Rebels, my Lord?" he said carefully.

_"The Jedi, Luke Skywalker, is among them,"_ Vader said. _"The stormtroopers were useless against him. I must face him alone."_

"Yes, my Lord," Piett said faintly.

_"Someone is trying to keep me from apprehending him,"_ Vader said darkly. _"But it __is his destiny to face me. Do nothing until I return."_

"Of course, Lord Vader," said Piett, a second after the other end of the

communication shut off. _Not that I have the power to do anything,_ Piett thought dully, staring out the window as the _Devastator_ floated slowly past the nose of his ship, completely dark.

_* * *_

_Esserec awoke to the beeping of a machine, and the cool eyes of a medic. "How are you feeling?" the woman said immediately as his eyes blinked open._

_He let out a shaken breath, dizzily certain that he was going mad. "I feel fine . . . but why am I here?"_

_She blew her dark bangs out of her eyes as she wrote something on a datapad. "You collapsed, right after healing your wife, Master Jedi. Three hours ago. We thought you might have sustained some injury in the battle, but—"_

"_No, I wasn't injured." He sank into a reverie, trying to recall exactly the strange, disturbing vision he had just had. Then he looked at the medic again. "Where is my wife?" He suddenly felt anxious. If he hadn't completed the healing . . ._

"_She's here. She's all right."_

_Dream-Esserec nodded, sinking into his pillows and musing._ That was the oddest vision I've ever had—and so vivid, _he thought._

You ain't seen nothing, _Normal-Esserec whispered._

_She billowed into the room at that moment, and Dream-Esserec forgot the strange thought as he sat up to greet her. She stopped near his bedside, looking him up and down with worried eyes, then exchanging a glance with the medic. Murmuring "Excuse me," the medic left. Then She sank down to sit beside him on the bed and said in a concerned voice, "Essie, I just wondered—I felt, after you fainted—"_

Fainted? _Both Esserecs thought in unison—_

"—_That you were in terrible pain. I want to know what happened."_

"_If I knew, darling, I'd tell you," he said, covering her hand with his. "It seemed to __be a vision, but of what—I'm not sure."_

"_Tell me."_

_He leaned back, reliving the memory, and the pain tortured both of them again for a moment. "I was dying," he whispered. "Pain, pain, only pain. I was lying on something hard—an operating table, I think. They put a needle in my arm. And . . . no." _

_He had been about to say, I was not alone in my head, but he couldn't do it - she'd think he was crazy. And then he'd have to tell her about the strange feeling he'd been having . . ._

"_I moved, and blacked out, woke up here."_

"_I called your Master," She said, still looking worried. "And he'll want to know about this, I know he will."_

"_I'll call him later," Dream-Esserec said._

"_No, he's coming . . . this wasn't an isolated event, Essie. The same thing has been happening to Jedi all over the galaxy."_

"_What?" he sat straight up, images of Jedi collapsing on the streets, racked by phantom pain flashing through his mind._

"_Assassination attempts. Master Gallia was wounded on Onderon, Master Windu nearly trapped in a blind alley, hundreds of similar stories. And none of them had a warning, not one. They felt nothing."_

But I did, _Dream-Esserec thought. "How soon until he arrives?"_

"_He's coming in about two hours from now, long enough for us to get to the starport near the Varykino retreat."_

"_Good, I'm ready, I can leave now." He pushed aside the covers, standing, noting that they had removed his huge, brown outer robe. The medic appeared as if from nowhere, scowling; his wife placated her while Esserec pulled on his robe. Meanwhile, a battle was raging inside his mind._

Who are you? _Dream-Esserec demanded._

I'm Esserec Wesseré, _Normal-Esserec replied._

Are you? That's odd, because _I'm_ Esserec Wesseré.

No, you're some Jedi who somehow got inside my body.

It seems to me you've got it backward. _You _are inside _my_ body.

Hey, I'm no Jedi! This, whatever it is, must be your fault.

Projecting one's consciousness into another's mind is a Sith power. _Dream-Esserec's thought was full of a anger, and a terrible resolve._ I must ask you to leave, _now_.

I can't.

_There was a silence. Then Dream-Esserec said slowly, _Was that . . . vision I had earlier, was that you?

_Normal Esserec stirred uneasily._ I think so. I was shot, y'see.

_Dream-Esserec's body felt something, and he came to himself to find that She was tugging impatiently at his sleeve, trying to move him. "What's the matter, Essie?" she said with some irritation. "C'mon, or we'll be late!" She led him out of the building and into the sunlight of noon, the babble of the city all around them._

_As he relaxed in the speeder outside—She was driving—Normal-Esserec was quiet, suddenly realizing the fix he was in. _My body is dying, _he thought, and at the fear in his mind, the other Esserec reached out comfortingly, then withdrew quickly. Normal-Esserec seemed to feel a horrible weight on his chest, as if the pain from his far-distant body were reaching him even here. Neither of them spoke for a long time._

_Dream-Esserec went through the motions on autopilot, listening with half an ear as She talked seriously about the many different assassination attempts on the Jedi Order—all of which had occurred over, it seemed, a span of just a few hours, and across the entire galaxy._

_The speeder flew over a wide, verdant grassland, with rivers snaking through the grass and, occasionally, herds of gualama beasts stalking gracefully across the plain. Esserec noticed none of it. He was awakened from his reverie a long time later by the end of the journey, in front of a small starport in a minuscule town._

_She turned to him quizzically. "Are you sure you're all right, Essie? I can go in alone, if you—"_

"_No, no, I'm fine. Really." He leaped energetically out of the speeder, thinking: _As if I would let you out of my sight, only hours after you were nearly killed . . .

_She seemed to catch the vestige of what he was thinking, for she cast him a half-amused glance and linked her arm through his. In this manner they strolled into the starport and lingered at the doorway of one of the hangars._

_They stood, comfortable in silence, waiting in a large, echoing hangar as a small, __yellow fighter descended smoothly to the floor. Almost before the landing struts touched the ground, the cockpit popped open and a figure in billowing robes leaped out, landed agilely on the floor, and came running towards them. Esserec—both of them—caught only a glimpse of long, curly, dark hair and blazing eyes before the man they belonged to had enveloped Her in an enormous embrace and twirled her around in the air._

"_Hey!" she protested, laughing. "You're choking me!'_

_He laughed and set her down gently. "Still afraid of heights, are we? Esserec!" _

_Turning to face Esserec, he stretched out a hand warmly._

_Esserec was frozen. Normal-Esserec was overwhelmed with terror and incredulity, pinned under those familiar eyes; and the dream-self, deluged by feelings that had nothing to do with him, stood rooted._

_The man—Darth Vader—stared at him for a second, his smile fading slightly. "Are you all right?"_

_Pushing the alien emotion away, Dream-Esserec shook his head and took the outstretched hand cordially. "Sorry, I just . . ." _Just what? Mistook you for someone I've never heard of? "_Sorry," he apologized again._

You idiot, that's Vader you're shaking hands with . . . _Normal-self was incoherent with fright. _If Vader ever saw this . . . _Dream-self saw that She was looking at him, obviously concerned. He touched her mind, briefly, reassuringly, with his own, and then turned back to the curly-haired Jedi._

Jedi? Naturally, just when I thought this couldn't be any more bizarre, _Normal-self muttered._

"_Thanks for coming so quickly," She said to Vader, gesturing that they should leave the hangar. Vader, glancing around, nodded and they began to walk up a long, broad corridor to where their speeder was waiting. "I want to get to the bottom of this assassination attempt as soon as possible, especially since this threat is apparently directed at all Jedi."_

"_You suspect Sith involvement?" Vader asked._

But naturally, _Normal-self thought drily, and as the thought filtered through their mind, Dream-self looked thoughtfully at the tall man walking next to him. "From what I got from their minds, it seems likely," he said, trying to cover the unintentional movement. "But I'm not willing to rule out anything at this point. If they try again . . ."_

_  
He shot a swift, protective glance at Her, and she smiled at him. Speaking to Vader, she said,"Something this widespread does seem to point to the Sith, but they're surely not the only group to wish the Jedi Order ill . . ."_

_Her voice - soft, smooth, and gentle - faded as if receding into the distance. Esserec gasped as pain shot through him, seeming to have no fixed epicenter._

He once again was aware of himself, lying on cold steel, pain lancing through him. He was also aware that he was not alone.

_Oh, what is this?_ The voice, his own and yet not his own, echoed in his mind, filled with pain and fear. _Where am I?_

Voices from outside jarred him; and he deciphered their words with difficulty—  
"'Mander, we're losing him—"

" . . . moving him is just making it worse . . ."

"—we're going to be caught because of all the noise—"

The hubbub fell away suddenly. He was aware—both of him—of another mind near his, consciously reaching out and filling his mind with peace, gently dimming the pain. Even as the other-Esserec reached back gratefully, their mind was forced back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Luke paused, a little bit confused. Had the Imperial's mind responded to his touch? Even - or had he been imagining it - reached back? Whatever it was, it was gone now. The man's mind was strangely empty, as if he were already dead. If he is dead, then this exercise is even more pointless than ever, Luke thought in frustration. Yet the compulsion was still there. And they had already brought him this far. It would seem like giving up to abandon him now.

It didn't help Luke's mood any that he was already jumpy. Vader was near. The cold, sharp mind that had touched Luke's briefly during the battle had withdrawn into a brooding shroud of the Dark Side, which made Luke feel cold all over when he attempted to penetrate it. I know he wanted us down here for a reason. But that singularly ineffective stormtrooper attack in the hanger couldn't be the sum total of it. No, he's got something else up his sleeve. The knowledge was making him nervous, and he held his blaster in his hand for comfort. Not that it would help much. His last duel against the Dark Lord had shown him how pitifully unready he was, how far he still had to go in his training. Why didn't I listen to Yoda in the first place . . . ?

They had come only a very short way in the hour since Rogue Squadron had been forced to land. They moved slowly, their progress checked by the dead weight of the Imperial officer, and also because the cloud of the Dark Side made it very difficult for Luke to pinpoint where their enemies were lurking. They were currently crouched in a darkened hallway, tense and exhausted. Luke glanced at his wrist chrono. Four hours. Only four short hours since the feeling that had woken him from his sleep and warned him of the impending attack. If he had not felt that, he wondered, where would they be now? Cooling their heels in some Imperial holding cell? Facing Darth Vader once again?

Wedge touched his shoulder. "Hey. 'Mander." Luke turned, shoving the dark thoughts into the back of his mind.

"Yeah, Wedge?" he said.

"You hear that?" Wedge's face was tense. Luke listened intently. The base was almost unnaturally still, but, far in the distance, was that . . .

"Repulsorlifts?" Hobbie shifted nervously. "They're leaving? Aren't they supposed to be looking for us?"

"That was the impression I got," Tasha said, with a glance at Luke. Far in the distance, everyone could hear the distant rumble of sublight engines.

"Could be a blind," Janson said. "Everyone takes off and leaves . . . except for the ones that don't."  
"No way to find out unless we look," Luke said. "C'mon, this way."


	9. Chapter 8: Peace and Pain

The shuttle was quiet as Vader piloted it towards the surface, the ground crew that he had put together - mostly stormtroopers, with a few engineers thrown in - trying not to breathe too loudly. Anger rolled off the black-garbed figure in waves, his blue eyes blazed with uncomfortable intensity, and his gloved fists on the controls were clenched tightly. The Dark Lord was a tightly-wound spring, and nobody even wanted to look at him. As the _Executor_ grew small behind them, the planet loomed large before them, and especially the small blotch that had been the Rebel base.

The comm chimed. Everyone jumped in surprise, and Vader turned his head slowly. He spoke to the nearest stormtrooper. "Pilot us to the Rebel base. I will return shortly."

He swept past the nervous crew in a swirl of black, exiting the forward compartment to the smaller one in the rear. In there was the standard holo-projector, a dark mound in the middle of the floor, glimmering in the light from the instruments along the walls.

Vader pressed a button, and the holo-projector winked, then lit up, projecting the figure of a tall man wearing dark robes. Vader knelt, murmuring, "I am honored, my Master . . ."

A voice issued from the darkness under the hood. "Your mind is clouded, Lord Vader."

Vader blinked, surprised. "My Lord? I am perfectly steady in my resolve - "

"And yet the nearness of this boy . . . Skywalker . . . has clouded your mind with emotions you should not be feeling." The words were calm, yet they seemed to strike Vader with fear. "You are not to approach him. I have forseen him kneeling at your feet, yes, but _I_ will be the one to deal with him. You cannot be trusted in this matter, my friend."

Vader's eyes flashed, and for a moment he seemed to struggle with himself. Then he sighed and his head dropped in a weary salute. "I will do thy bidding . . . Master."

* * *

_He hurt, but at least it was not the pain of a deadly wound. A high-pitched humming assaulted his ears, and his knees ached, but the pain of his wound was nothing but a memory. He realized that he was looking at his hands, planted on the ground in front of him, and slowly realized that he was on hands and knees, gasping for breath._

"_Esserec?" She put her hand over his, and he looked up at her. She met his eyes with a gleam of fierceness that made him feel better almost immediately. "What's happening? I felt . . . pain—"_

Oh yes, pain.

_She looked concerned, glanced up. "Another vision?"_

_A strong hand grasped his shoulder. "Let's talk somewhere safer—can you walk?"_  
_He looked up to see Vader, blue lightsaber ignited and emitting that humming __noise he had noticed earlier. Vader was wary, his eyes darting around the corridor, lightsaber held at the ready._

"_Yes, thank you, Master." Sometimes he fell into the old patterns, old rhythms as familiar as breathing. Stumbling slightly, he got to his feet with Her help and Vader's strong hand._

"_Hurry," Vader urged. "I don't sense anything around here . . . but that's not really conclusive evidence anymore, is it? Get in the speeder."_

_Esserec complied, lifting a shaking hand to his head as he sat. Her cool hand slipped into his, bringing it into her lap and holding it with both of hers as the speeder smoothly sprang into motion, Vader at the controls._

"_Tell me what's going on, Esserec," Vader said commandingly. "You've been acting strangely . . . and there's something about the way your mind feels that I—I've never felt before."_

_Dream-Esserec forced out the words. "I don't know where to start."_

"_Start with what happened just now, and we'll go from there."_

_He tightened his hand around hers as the memory flooded back. "I felt as if I had been mortally wounded. Then I was somewhere—I couldn't see where, but I heard people saying things—they said I was dying. And they . . ." He glanced at the front seat. "Mentioned Skywalker . . . and I wasn't alone in my head . . . what I mean is, I was in someone else's head. Then I came back here."_

And you aren't alone, _Esserec whispered._

_Dream-Self jerked._ You're dying, you know that? _he told the voice._

"_What's the matter?" She asked, worry in her voice._

_Vader apparently didn't hear, for he said, "And you think this vision is connected to the assassination attempt?"_

_Esserec—both of them—paused thoughtfully. "It might be," Dream-Self said. "Just before the attack, I had a similar sensation." _And after.

I saved your—my—our life! _Esserec growled._

"_Describe it to me," Vader bade._

"_I felt worried—tense . . . I was upset, but I didn't know why."_

"_That was just the Force, warning you of the impending attack." She sounded almost disappointed._

"_No, this was different." Dream-Self took a shuddering breath. "I think it's connected to my dreams."_

_Vader actually turned to look at them, and Esserec shut his eyes in terror as they missed another speeder with inches to spare._ He may be a Jedi, but he's the same deranged man underneath, _Esserec thought._

"_The ones where you're a soldier?" Vader said, his eyes like lasers._

_Dream-Self nodded. "I think it was the same kind of thing, only when I was awake . . ."_

Soldier? _Esserec was indignant._ I'm an officer of the Imperial Army, thanks awfully.

Imperial Army? _Dream-Self said curiously._ Never heard of it.

You wouldn't have , _Esserec thought sarcastically._

"_And how could this have been connected to your dreams?" Vader asked, turning the speeder out of the city and letting out the throttle as they flew over a long, rolling meadow. "I thought that in your dreams you were an entirely different person."_

_Dream-Self was drawing breath to answer when all became darkness. _

The pain was crippling. He drew in one, tortured breath, then another, and knew that this motion must soon stop.

_What happened? _The other Esserec managed through the anguish. _You're dying._

_I . . . shot, in the . . . stomach— _A groan of pain ripped through the air, and he noted distantly that it was him making the noise.

_Can't you . . . no, I forgot, you aren't a Jedi._

_What? _Esserec thought, holding onto this thought as a distraction. He remembered, as if from another lifetime, a dream where he knelt beside a woman, put his hands on her, and the wound in her chest melted away.

A pause. Then the other Esserec said, _I'm sorry, I can't seem to do anything. The Force isn't responding to me._

_Oh . . . that's too bad. _His mind was very calm, and he found that the idea didn't actually bother him that much.

He felt the other Esserec's emotions, which threatened to overwhelm his peace. They were quiet for a moment, both concentrating on breathing.

Then the other Esserec spoke. _No, I can't let that happen. You must be a Force-Sensitive, because I am._

_Uh . . . uh-huh . . ._ Esserec thought this was a very reasonable response.

_Breathe, breathe, just as you're doing. When you've calmed down, I'll tell you what to do._

He was offended by this_. . . ._ Am _calm._

_No, you're in shock. It's very bad for your heart, and you need to be very focused for this to work. Right now your mind is drifting, unable to cope with your reality. _

_Breathe, Esserec, you can't die on me._

_Ohhhhhh . . ._ And he breathed.

Breath after breath after horrible breath after agonizing breath. The world came into sharper focus, pinwheeling across his pain-blurred mind. _This hurts,_ he complained.

_Yes, I'm here too, remember? Keep breathing, the pain means you're still alive._  
Hours later, or so it seemed, the other Esserec spoke again. _Now Esserec, keep breathing, but try to concentrate and do as I say. All right?_

Everything was starting to go white around the edges. Esserec fought to concentrate on the voice in his mind, but, in spite of his best efforts, all sensation was beginning to fade. _Please, I don't know what to do,_ he whispered. _I can't hold on.  
_

A brilliant sort of whirling seemed to take over his mind, and he was swept away in the tide. He could hear the other Esserec calling urgently after him.

_* * *_

There was only one ship left in the base, a transport - and it had a hold large enough to contain all their X-Wings. Fully fueled, too.

"You know this is a trap." Tasha had come into the cockpit and was was watching him. "There's no way that we can take this ship to the rendezvous point. It's almost certainly bugged nine ways from here to Coruscant."

"It's our only way off this rock, Tasha," Luke said in his most reasonable voice. "But I agree, we can't fly it all the way to the rendezvous. We'll just have to find someplace to refuel our X-Wings."

"That is one good thing about it," she said, relaxing slightly. "We can take them along."

Tycho bounced into the cockpit. "Well, let's not sit around talking," he said brightly. "Mind if I fly her, 'mander?"

"Sure, go ahead. I wish this bucket had weapons," Luke said. "Not that it would do much against a Star Destroyer, or two, or three."

"It would be terribly unsporting of them to give us a ship only to shoot it out of the sky," Tycho said, sliding into the pilot's chair and flipping on the comm. "We're taking off now," he said into it, and Luke could hear his voice echoing from speakers down the hallway beyond the door. "Hold on and fasten whatever passes for safety straps in this thing. If the Imps aren't quite as gone as we hope, it could get rocky."

_"Aye, captain,"_ a sarcastic voice replied from the comm.

As the transport lifted out of the hangar in an ungainly fashion, Luke cast his thoughts back to his brief encounter with the mind of the Imperial officer who was now lying lifelessly in the ship's small medical bay. Had he been imagining that sensation – the feeling that the other mind had reached out in response to his calming touch? That this mind was open – no, _awake_ – to the Force? Luke wanted it to be true so much that he could taste the longing. He hadn't been aware how lonely being the only Force-sensitive within shouting distance had been until now, and although he knew it was stupid – the man was a Imperial, and one who had tried his very best to kill Luke – he suddenly found himself wishing that it was true, that here was someone else with Jedi potential.

Then the transport shuddered its way out of the atmosphere and Tasha groaned. The three Imperial Star Destroyers were still there – hanging in space above them, their sides glowing grey in the light of the sun rising beyond Terasis VI.

"They're just . . . sitting there," Tycho said in a shaking voice. "Where are the TIEs? Where's the gunfire?"

Tasha had launched herself into the copilot's seat and her fingers were dancing over the console. "I don't understand . . ." she muttered.

Luke had risen halfway out of his seat, reaching out with his mind so tensely that his fingers left marks in the _shaak_-skin armrests. "What are they doing?" he muttered. "They're . . . just sitting there."

"Luke, they're dead," Tasha said in a voice that vibrated with rising tension. "Just . . . dead. No power, just some residual heat. Everyone's still on board, but the ships . . . Luke, did you hear me?"

"Tycho, get us out of here," Luke said in a numb voice. Tycho swallowed, then nodded. As the old ship began to gain speed, Luke felt – once again – the faint touch on his mind, the darkness that meant he had Vader's attention. The feeling was different this time, in a way he could not immediately classify. It was as if he had been touched by a sorrow so intense it was like being burned and frozen simultaneously. _Luke, please . . ._ the unspoken plea echoed in his mind, left him shaking. His mind responded almost instinctively, sending a feeling of warmth and comfort back to the sender of the plea. _I'm sorry._

As the stars surrounding the Tensor system blurred into starlines and the starlines faded into the marbled blue of hyperspace, Tasha took a deep breath and exchanged a shaky grin with Tycho. Luke noted this distantly, as a new and unfamiliar feeling was worming its way into his heart – it was almost determination. He remembered Rosa saying to him that _'all men pass through the fire, but not all emerge whole_.' Luke saw, with a sudden flash of clarity, that the fire his father was passing through was not yet over.

"What do you think that was all about?" Tycho mused, clambering out of his chair to fix Luke in his gaze. "Some sort of really weird trap? A ruse?"

"You think they're following us, then?" Luke's voice was strangely distant, as though he were talking to himself. Tasha threw him a surprised look.

"Wasn't that the whole point of giving us this rigged transport? I mean, the Empire I know doesn't just hand Rebel squadrons escape vehicles in the middle of a battle without _some_ kind of ulterior motive. And who's to say that whole 'dead In space' thing wasn't just a trick?"

"Unless you know something that we don't," Tycho said quietly.

Luke was spared the necessity of replying when Hobbie's urgent voice sounded over the comm:_  
_

_"Luke, I need you to get down to sickbay right away. Your friend, the Imperial, is dying."_

Tasha turned a wide-eyed gaze on Luke, who shook away his thoughts and strode out of the room.

By the time he reached the infirmary, Luke was sprinting. _Your friend . . . dying . . ._

Hobbie looked up as Luke barged in, his face pale. "I'm sorry, Luke," he said softly. "He just - it just _happened_."

"He's dead?" Luke stared at the pale body on the only bed. _Why did the Force __make me bring him, then?_

"No," Hobbie said. "Not yet. But there's no way we're going to be able to wake him up either. His heart rate and brain activity are so low they're barely measurable." He bit his lower lip. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to talk to him."

Luke stepped over to the side of the bed and looked down at the Imperial's pale face. His hair, as dark and shiny as Leia's, curled over his clammy forehead. His face was an unhealthy shade of gray.

Yoda had not been able to finish Luke's training yet, and as Luke stared at the enigmatic face of his supposed enemy, he regretted it once again. Yoda had often spoken of healing through the Force, even deadly wounds, in no time at all. Luke knew, however, that if he attempted something like that without any training, he would almost certainly make things even worse.

Looking away, he nodded at Hobbie. "Call me if there's any change, all right?"  
He made his way back to the cockpit, frustrated and angry. _Everything I do seems to be going wrong. Even my instincts - which Ben told me to trust - are wrong now._

Tasha looked up when he came in. "Hey, Skywalker. How's the patient doing?"

"Badly." Luke sank into a seat and buried his face in his hands. "He's not going to last much longer."

"Hey." He looked up in surprise at the gentle note in her usually strident voice. "You did all you could. Now it's the Force's time to come through for _you._" Her dark eyes met his with their usual directness, but the expression in them was soft.

"I thought that bringing him along was foolhardy," Luke said, rubbing his face.

"It was." She grinned. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't pretty darn noble."

* * *

Lynn was gripping his hand tightly, her eyes dark in her pale face. When Esserec opened his eyes, she twitched violently and took in a long, long breath.

"Anakin," she said.

_I'm Esserec,_ he thought fuzzily. Then Vader loomed over her shoulder, and he shrank against the pillow before his mind cleared and he remembered. _I'm Esserec. I'm a Jedi. That's my Master. Not a Sith Lord. And I must have collapsed again._ "How long was I out?" he whispered. His throat was dry.

"Only a few hours." Vader's voice was dry. Or was his name Anakin? Esserec was having trouble remembering. "Want to tell me what's going on? While you were out, I got the most peculiar sensation from your mind. As if it wasn't there anymore." He paused, seeking to clarify. "As if your mind had left your body."

"That's an . . . accurate description." Esserec smiled grimly, struggling to sit up. "Well, maybe not quite. Can someone get me some water?"

Lynn stood quickly, then paused. "You are forbidden to say _anything_ important while I'm gone," she told them, fixing them both with a stern gaze before leaving the room in a swirl of purple gown. Esserec noticed the surroundings suddenly. Filmy curtains blew everywhere, and sunlight glowed off golden stone and luxuriant velvets and silks. Of course. They must have reached the secret house hours ago. It was nearing sundown, if the golden quality of the light was anything to go by.

He looked back to see Vad - Anakin watching him with a line between his eyebrows. "While you were gone, Obi-Wan called. He's coming, and he's bringing Padme."

Esserec choked. "P--_pardon_?"

"Padme Amidala Skywalker." Anakin accented each syllable impatiently. "Your aunt, my wife, remember her? Or was it Obi-Wan's name that surprised you? Do you not want them to come here?" His voice sharpened. "Esserec, this has _got _to stop. What's happening to you? Why is your mind suddenly so different?" Vader - no, _Anakin - _'s eyes were half-curious, half-wary. "I keep catching thoughts that somehow aren't _yours_." He began to pace, just as Esserec kept half-remembering Vader doing. "If there's some danger to my wife that you know of, Esserec - " Anakin-Vader began.

"Stop doing that," Esserec hissed, closing his eyes against the blinding pain in his head. Memories from the other-Esserec kept overlapping with what was real - or what he _assumed_ was real, although how did he know that it wasn't a dream, and that he wasn't really lying in some dispensary somewhere with a hole in his spleen?

"Stop what?" From the sound of his voice, Vader had moved closer.

"Just stop pacing, I need to think," Esserec said. He was suddenly exhausted. Thinking seemed impossible; talking was better. " - don't know what's real and what's not . . . anymore . . . the trouble is that I think he's still in there, but how do I know if _I'm_ me - and at the same time, there's _you_ . . ."

"Stop being cryptic, Esserec, or I'm going to rip the truth out of your head without asking politely," Anakin growled. Definitely a Vader-voice. "You've scared my sister half out of her mind today. And come to think of it, _I'm_ pretty scared, too. You're acting possessed, and I don't know what _by._"

At this moment, Lynn came back in with a crystal jug and goblet. Taking in the scene, she set the water on a table by the door and put her hands on her hips. "I told you not to say anything while I was gone," she said accusingly, glaring at Anakin. "And _what_ do you mean, Esserec is being possessed?"

Anakin shifted guiltily. "Sorry. He started it."

"Luke just called." She looked worried suddenly. "The Force-cloaked soldiers even got into the Tatooine base. They were extremely well-prepared."

"Is he all right?" Vader said, paling.

"He didn't have time to talk much . . ." Lynn turned and came over to Esserec, sitting down and taking his hand again, stroking it comfortingly. Whether her comfort or his, he couldn't say.

"I'll be fine, love," he told her, and was surprised by how bizarre it felt to say that, as he sat there holding her hand. _After all, she's practically a stranger - I think._ He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of her hand in his. Yes, that was familiar. It was right. But how could it feel so odd at the same time?

Awkwardly, he pulled his hand away. Then he had to pretend to use it to sit up straighter, and kept it by his side. _Can't touch her . . . what if I _am_ possessed - that's what I thought at the beginning, after all._

"Why don't you start there, and work your way onward?" Vader said sarcastically.

When Esserec met his eyes, he knew that the tall man had missed nothing of what had just happened. And he had replied to Esserec's thoughts.

_He can hear what I'm thinking._ Esserec's heart beat more quickly with fear. "I-I really don't know how to begin," he said. "There's so much, and it barely makes sense to me."

"Start with the attack in Theed," Lynn said. She had not missed the subterfuge with the hand either, and he suddenly wanted to take her hand back; but he knew with his half-knowledge that such a move would be firmly rebuffed. Her eyes were hard, almost cold.

_She knows I'm not me._ He shivered. _But I _am _me. I still am. Just . . . a confused me._ "Fine. The attack." He licked his lips and wished she had given him the glass of water. "Well. All I remember is that I was, was - um - how do I explain this?" Slowly, a memory surfaced that he could use. "Well, you know how when Jedi - when, um, _we_ talk in our minds, you know . . ."

"Telepathy," Vader supplied the word. He had folded his arms over his chest, and was focusing eyes like blue lasers on Esserec's face.

"Yes. Exactly. It was as if someone were talking inside my head using telepathy, only different. It was the other me, the Esserec from my dreams, the soldier. He was _inside_ my head, his whole mind, memories and everything, and it was really confusing because he had seen it before." Esserec frowned. "He had had dreams about me, too, you see. About the attack in Theed. So that's why I knew what was going to happen, even though they were impossible to sense in the Force. But there's something wrong with him. He's hurt. Shot."

Beside him, Lynn closed her eyes as if in memory of some distant pain. Without thinking, Esserec took her hand. She tensed, then gripped him tightly.

"He's unconscious most of the time; that's why he's here with me. Well, he's not here right now. Not exactly. Let me get to that. Where was I. Oh, yes. Sometimes, his body would regain consciousness - and when it did, he um, he took me back with him. I don't know how. In fact, I don't know how any of this is happening. But that's why I keep blacking out - because I'm back there, in his body, where he is dying. Or he was, anyway." His eyes were prickling. "I couldn't let him die, even if he is . . . even if he does hate Jedi. Even if he lives in a universe where the Sith rule the galaxy. I don't know how it happened, but he never became a Jedi, they missed him somehow. So I taught him enough to put himself into a Healing Trance . . . and now, I'm back - but I think he's still in there, because his memories are . . . are confusing me." He couldn't look at Anakin. _How could I have thought those things?_

"What kinds of memories?" Anakin said. "Will they explain why you're suddenly behaving like a frightened Gungan around me?"

Esserec groaned inwardly. _I really did not want to have to explain this . . ._ "I told you, things are different where he comes from. You . . . you aren't who you . . . are. And he's afraid of the person you became." He met Anakin's eyes, willing him to understand - _please don't make me say it._

The sound of Anakin's breathing suddenly seemed to fill the whole room. "You mean I . . . I took Palpatine up on his offer?" He laughed harshly, then abruptly spun on his heel and billowed out of the room.

Esserec feeling only the breeze against his skin and Lynne's hand gently holding his. He fell back against the pillows and whispered to the bedclothes, "Don't worry, you regret it every moment."

* * *

Vader reached for the controls of the shuttle, then pulled back reluctantly. He could feel his son, lingering although his physical presence was gone.

"_Sir?"_ The stormtrooper's voice was hesitant. "_Is something the matter?"_

Vader's fingers twitched as he longed to crush the man's throat. _Nothing's the matter, of course. Nothing whatever. Now is simply not the time. Luke will turn, my Master has said so . . . but not now._

He turned, feeling his black cloak flow around him. Impatience welled up in him. He reached up and felt the hair that was now almost long enough to curl on his scalp, wishing that he could show Luke his true face. True, it was a twisted wreckage of what had been, scarred by burns and the slow decay of time, but even so, he wondered what Luke would think of it. He could not explain this longing. Perhaps he wanted Luke to look into his eyes and see how similar they were to his own, and to know that the father he hated was, in fact, human. And if the mask was gone, Luke might see the lines that sorrow and remorse had carved into this face.

But no. Vader clenched his fists. Luke had already rejected him. Screamed in horror at the mere thought of their having any connection. The same eyes and the same smile - not that Vader ever smiled anymore - would merely remind him of that disgust.

_No. It's too late . . . again. If I do catch him, it will be merely to bring him to the Emperor. And he can never see my face._

He turned his head to look at the straight-backed stormtrooper captain. "Pilot the ship to the _Executer_," he rasped. How he hated his own voice. "Do not disturb me until we dock. And inform the commander of the _Executer_ that we are returning." He turned in a swirl of cloak and stalked off to his private chamber. And as the repulsorlifts whined and the ship lifted into the atmosphere, he was fastening the black, expressionless mask on over his face.

* * *

Crouched in darkness, Lieutenant Theo considered his options, which were decidedly few. _This wasn't one of my better plans,_ he thought wryly to himself. Turning to his pack, he rummaged through until he found a very unusual-looking personal communicator, on which a green light was blinking rapidly. Flipping the comm open, Theo keyed in a series of numbers which began a chain reaction on the far-distant Star Destroyers, restarting the mechanical systems that enabled the ships to be controlled by the many, many people onboard.

Returning the comm to his pack, Theo settled himself more comfortably against the wall and closed his eyes.

_It's done,_ he said into the blankness of his mind.

_Excellent. Now, in order for the plan to work, you have to be invisible. I will monitor the situation carefully – when you wake up, it will be time to make your move._

_Understood, my Lord,_ Theo said with a mental sigh, punching his lumpy pack into something resembling a pillow and laying his head on it. _Let's go to sleep, then._

_Sweet dreams,_ the other voice said, and all was darkness.


	10. Chapter 9: Strength and Weakness

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologize for the extreme lateness of this update. First I was out of the country, then I had a severe case of writer's block, but I can promise more regular updates from here on in. To everyone who posted those fabulous reviews, I'd just like to say an extremely profuse "Thank you!" Reviews = Writer's crack.**

**~General San3**

_It was a strange dream._

_Mostly because it felt so real._

_So normal._

_And yet so strange._

_Vader couldn't put his finger on it right away. There was something that was different._

_He felt relaxed. Bouyant. Almost . . . happy. And there was more._

_His lungs didn't hurt when he drew breath. That was one thing. His hands felt different from each other-the left one was particularly odd. There was a slight pulsing sensation in the fingertips that seemed foreign somehow. Blood, he realized. There was blood flowing in his left had._

_Impossible._

_His eyes flashed open, and he put the hand in front of his face to examine it, a feeling of excitement flooding through him. It was true. His hand was a real hand, normal, his own hand. He felt at it with his right hand-which was still mechanical, for some reason. He frowned. His imagination could provide him with only one real hand? Odd. And it didn't even have the sophisticated 'nerves' that his waking mech did. It appeared to be his old model. Suddenly, he was curious._

_It was dark in the room, but there was one window through which a little moonlight could be seen. Vader twisted around, trying to get his mechanical hand into the tiny square of half light so that he could properly examine it. As he did this, a number of curious sensations caused him to freeze._

_Firstly, he noticed that he was wearing pajamas. They felt luxuriously ratty and old, as if he had been wearing them for years. These days he slept in a sophisticated breather pod that nurtured his lungs- and it came with its own particular suit. Pajamas were a thing of the past, akin to his old blue lightsaber. And then there was his feet. When they had been pulled through the cloth, they had felt . . . ticklish._

_Mechanical feet were many things. But they were never ticklish._

_A feeling of almost hysterical happiness shot through him. _I'm not a cyborg,_ he suddenly realized. He wrenched his feet free from the thick blankets, throwing them back and pulling his long legs (and the pajamas were truly old and horribly ratty) out from underneath so that he could see for himself, with his own eyes, that he was not a machine._

_Because this could not be just a dream. He did not know how it was possible, but no dream ever felt this real. He could still feel his surroundings with the Force! That would not have been possible in a dream. He reached out to explore this strange new world where he was a real person with real limbs and a real bed and a real, vital, beating heart and he felt-_

_A presence._

_A familiar presence._

_He turned his eyes to his right. The room was pitch black and the bed was huge. He had missed her until now. He strained his eyes, sharpening them with the Force. And he could see her._

_Padme._

_The rush of emotions was too much. A sudden blackness began to descend upon him._

I'm fainting, I think_, he thought. But he was really waking up._

Vader opened his eyes. He felt strange. There was a fluttering, warm feeling pervading his body, as if his heart were beating properly for the first time in years.

It took him a moment to realize why he had woken, so eagerly did his mind relive the dream – if dream it was – over and over again. It was only when a voice, hesitant and alarmed, broke into his thoughts, that he remembered where he was.

He was in his breather pod. His limbs were heavy, lifeless – cold as only a machine could be. And Padme's mind – her gentle dreaming in the night – was also gone as if she never had been.

"_My lord? -Vader? My lord?"_

Vader lifted his right hand, clenching the black glove into a fist. _Just a dream,_ he thought viciously. _Nothing else. Those emotions belong to . . . someone else. _He raised his eyes to look at his reflection on the shiny white wall in front of him. His eyes were as dark and as hard as stones. _Not to me._

He pressed a button beside his hand and said coldly, "Yes, Lieutenant? I trust you have good reason for disturbing me."

"_My apologies, Lord Vader, but the power has returned to all three Star Destroyers. We are about to dock with the _Executor._"_

Vader sat silently for a moment. "Very well, Lieutenant. I will be there in a moment."

The comm clicked off, and Vader reached for the button that would open the breather pod and allow him to exit the room, but his hand hesitated. For a moment, he could feel the pulse of blood through his fingertips again, the sensation of cloth over biological flesh. He could feel air flowing through unblemished lungs. He knew he had to banish those thoughts, those feelings. Purge them from his soul, lest any hint of such weakness manifest itself to his Master.

He turned his thoughts inward, remembering Obi-wan's betrayal – his mother's death – his hatred of the Jedi Order – how Padme had died. Rage began to build in him again, a blank stormcloud swirling around itself and lashing out at those painful memories like lightning.

_I am the Dark, and the Dark cannot be weak._

But he couldn't bring himself to forget how her eyelashes had been like black smudges on her cheeks as she slept, how her hand was curled beside her face like a child's. He couldn't forget it, so he buried it, deep and dark, in the last warm place left in his mind. The place he also kept Luke, and his secret, hopeless wish for redemption.

Anakin surfaced from the dream with a gasp. The room was pleasant and cool, but he was completely covered in sweat. He looked around at the twisted mass of blankets surrounding him-had he been thrashing in his sleep? If he had been tossing and turning in response to his dream, then perhaps he had been speaking as well. The thought of actually saying aloud the things which had been flitting through his mind a moment earlier made his stomach twist. He looked over at Padme, and was relieved to see that she was sleeping soundly. If he had said anything, then she hadn't overheard.

Could he honestly have been dreaming about trying to turn Luke to the dark side?

Never.

But that was what it had been about.

He hadn't been happy about that, but that did not comfort him. As uncomfortable as it made his 'dream self,' he had still gone on with it. The plotting and planning had continued with the ease of familiarity, as if pain and cruelty came as naturally as eating when he was hungry. Mindless.

Although Anakin had felt, often, the touch of the Dark Side in his mind, the subtle whisper of the groping dark seeking to turn him to its purpose, he had never – until now – actually experienced the mind- and soul-numbing feeling of being completely in its grasp. He had had absolutely no idea how horrifying such a feeling could be, of the Force being not a benevolent friend, but a cruel master; of friends being enemies – or dead.

He turned his head slightly to look at Padme again. In sleep, her face was peaceful, lit only by the faint starlight that crept in through the balcony doors. A few silver strands glimmered in her dark hair, and lines of laughter and tears now curved across her pale skin. Anakin stared at her, trying desperately to forget the utter blackness of the feeling that, for that other _him_, Padme was dead by his hand. She had never lived to see their children grow, see both Luke and Leia become talented Jedi, or even her nephew, Esserec, become Anakin's own apprentice. She had died alone, and he had not been there to hold her hand as she called out his name.

_Those visions . . ._ he trembled as he remembered how desperate he had been once the dreams of Padme dying in childbirth had begun, how he had recalled his mother's horrific death by the hands of Tusken Raiders. Yes, he remembered, he would have done anything to save Padme's life. It shook him, to realize how close he had probably come to exactly what the other him had done.

Anakin brought shaking hands up to his face. _I need my Master._

Leia was having trouble sleeping, and she tossed restlessly on the thin pallet in the _Millennium Falcon_, listening to the thin whine of the hyperdrive and trying to keep from thinking. The ship had been in hyperspace for a couple of hours, and she tried not to remember that they had at least another twenty hours to go until they reached the rendezvous. Rising from her bed and cinching her white robe around her waist, she snuck out of the room, casting a glance at Winter's bed to make sure that her overprotective companion was still asleep.

As she walked to the cockpit, Leia ran a hand along the curving wall of the hallway, blinking in the bright light after the darkness of the sleeping chamber. She had insisted on flying off Terasis in the _Falcon_, although both Generals Rieeken and Madine had impressed upon her that another ship would be more comfortable and safer. They had actually suggested leaving the small freighter behind, to save pilots for the fighters and transports. It wasn't until Chewbacca had come to back her up, growling menacingly in the back of his throat, that the generals had given the princess leave to take the ship – Han's ship – along, provided that she take a small contingent of fighters to protect her. Those poor pilots, she thought ruefully, were probably getting even less sleep than she was.

The door of the cockpit wheezed asthmatically as it opened, and she stepped inside, glad that it was only Chewie in there to see her with her hair tousled and her robes wrinkled. He grunted when he saw her and sat morosely in the copilot's chair, tinkering with a bit of machinery that she didn't recognize. She considered sitting in the pilot's seat, but finally settled for her accustomed seat in the back of the tiny space.

There they sat, silently for a while. Leia felt much more comfortable here, with Chewie large and silent beside her, and for a moment she didn't even mind that Han's seat was empty.

Finally, she ventured to speak. "I hope Luke got out okay," she said quietly.

Chewie grunted, and she took a moment to puzzle out what he had said in that unusual Wookie language.

"I know he's a Jedi, but . . . he's Luke." She sighed. "I just, I can't lose him too." Her eyes were burning, but she tried to keep her voice steady as she said in her fiercest tone, "We'll see him soon."

In spite of her attempted bravado, her voice wavered on the last word, and she knew that a tear was trickling down her cheek.

Suddenly, she was engulfed in a pair of long, fuzzy arms, and Chewie let out one of those soft little moans that were as close as he ever came to tears. At that sorrowful noise, it was as though a dam had broken inside Leia somewhere. She clutched the fur on Chewie's broad chest and sobbed, her tears choking her voice.

"We'll find him, Chewie," she sobbed, "we'll find him."

Later, when Winter entered the cockpit, hair tousled and eyes worried, she found her princess asleep, nestled into the crook of Chewie's arm.

Morning dawned early, cold and misty, at the Varykino resort. Esserec slipped out of bed, testing his aching muscles wincingly, and headed outside to one of the many terraces. He sensed his Master's quiet pain nearby, and considered letting it alone – but after a moment, the brooding shroud that concealed Anakin's thoughts lifted and Esserec found himself invited to intrude. He walked hesitantly and saw the tall, gaunt figure of Anakin Skywalker leaning against a balustrade in the midst of a profusion of closed, dewy flowers.

"I need to be interrupted, Esserec," Anakin said distantly. "You know you're always welcome to . . ."

Esserec fidgeted. "I wasn't sure – I know I'm the cause of your pain."

"No, you're not." Anakin's breath misted faintly as he laughed softly. "I just realized how lucky I am, is all. Your . . . visions, or whatever they were, made me contemplative."

"Does that mean you forgive me for, er, upsetting you yesterday? I honestly didn't mean to say those things. I was mixed up."

Anakin fingered something in his hand, and Esserec saw it was a communicator. "I wish I could talk to my Master," he muttered.

Swallowing, Esserec nodded. "You miss him," he ventured. "I know he was proud of you. He always told Lynn that you and Obi-wan were like the sons he never had."

"Proud of me?" Anakin shifted restlessly. "What for? I've never done the things he thought I would do." He leaned his arms on the railing. "Sometimes everything – all this fighting – seems so pointless. All I want most of the time now is to see my kids, and don't tell me that's just old age, Esserec," he said with a rueful grin over his shoulder, "because I don't need the reminder. I wonder if the Jedi council allows you to retire . . ."

Esserec was shocked. "But, Master, why are you saying this just now? I mean, you're barely, what, forty-five?"

"Forty-six," Anakin said moodily.

"Yeah. I mean, Master Windu's got to be 200 years old, and Master Yoda . . ."

"How old was my Master when he died?" Anakin said quietly. Esserec was silent. "He was seventy-four, Esserec. And he died happy, because he'd done something. But not me, Esserec. Not ME. They call me the Chosen One, and I'm meant to bring balance to the Force, but I've done nothing. Nothing that any other Jedi couldn't have done."

"Master . . ." Esserec said, casting about for the words that would stop this unsettling introspection.

"No, Esserec." Anakin sighed. "This is something I needed to admit to myself. I'm sorry you had to hear it, though."

"But, Master," Esserec protested, his fingers curling and uncurling, "you've done so much – you defeated Count Dooku, you stopped Palpatine . . ."

"You know better than anyone that those were temporary solutions, Esserec," Anakin said gently. "The Sith are springing up stronger than ever – as these new attacks prove – and I'm getting so that I dread these jaunts across the galaxy to stamp out fires." He shifted his shoulders. "And I'm beginning to recognize just how ineffective I have been, really. I see the work that Leia does in the Senate, and I know that she'll be the real savior of the galaxy, not me. She'll heal us through patience and diplomacy. And you know, Esserec, I'm no diplomat." He smiled, and the bitterness that had upset Esserec was gone. "Maybe I can convince Padme to settle down and retire. She'd like to live here on Naboo permanently, I know."

Esserec stirred. "Lynn would like that."

"Luke's going to be upset, though," Anakin muttered. "He's been trying to get us to visit him on Tatooine for ages now – but I tell you, the day I set foot on that planet again is the day . . . Hutts fly." He shuddered. "I can still taste the dust in the air, I don't need a reminder. The day my mother died, I really thought . . . I would never, never be whole again. If my Master hadn't been there to get me through it, I – yeah, I can see myself going down a whole different path."

"Anakin, this really isn't like you. This – soul-searching." Esserec rubbed his hand through his hair. "I know there's something you aren't telling me."

Anakin was very still. Esserec suddenly became aware that the first light of the sun was beginning to sneak over the horizon, made hazy and luminous by the mist.

"I had a dream last night, Esserec," Anakin said softly. "I was bound by pain and by my own stupidity into a life of anger, fear, and sorrow. I was myself yet not myself. I had lost everything – and it was nobody's fault but my own. And, d'you know, Esserec," he said with a short, bitter laugh, "I still tried to blame other people for it. There was only one light in my life, and a dim and flickering light at that. He needs someone to save him, Esserec. He has no idea how to do it on his own."

Quietly, Esserec put a comforting hand on his Master's shoulder. "He'll come back to the Light Side, Master. It is his destiny."

Tycho had found a suitable planet for refueling nearby. He told Luke about it in the transport's small eating room. "Actually, it was Tasha's suggestion," he said, grinning at Luke over a plate of karkan ribenes. "Naboo. Ever heard of it?"

"Didn't they rebel a while back?" Luke said thoughtfully. "I've never actually been there. What sort of cover are we going to have?"

Tasha smiled. "I've got some contacts with the Rebellion there. We'll be all right."

"Doesn't Naboo have some rebellious leanings?" Will wanted to know.

"Fairly." Tasha swirled her glass of blue milk, a look of intense concentration on her face. "The planet's suffered a lot in the last few years. The Empire basically destroyed the capital after the last Queen's death – so Naboo has very little love for the Empire."

Standing, Luke nodded. "It sounds like a good bet. Perhaps while we're there we can search out the local underground Resistance - find some allies for the Alliance."

"And dump the luggage," Janson muttered, looking across the hall at the door of the dispensary.

"Perhaps," Luke said in a neutral tone. "How long before we abandon the transport, Tycho?"

Tycho gestured with his fork. "I was planning to ditch her outside the Chommell System. Forty-some hours or so."

Luke bit back a yawn. "Time to hit the sack, then. Let's get well-rested while we've got some time."

He went to his quarters, but he couldn't sleep. Memories of the battle kept filling his mind; Zev's death, the fight with the stormtroopers; and, especially, of Vader's dark, looming presence. _How can I possibly feel pity for him__?_ Luke asked himself again and again. _I've seen what he's capable of. And . . . worse, how much he wants to capture me._ Restlessly, he got to his feet, pulled on his soft grey jumpsuit, and stalked through the silent ship until he reached the cockpit. Strangely, the room was not empty.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, Skywalker?" Tasha asked, looking up at him from the gunner's chair, her bare feet resting casually on the dash in front of her.

"I could say the same thing." Luke scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I couldn't sleep."

"Me, neither." She looked through the viewport. "Whenever I can't sleep, I always come into the cockpit to admire hyperspace."

Luke dropped into the pilot's chair and also looked through the viewport. The coruscating blue and silver light flashing by the ship was beautiful, and also strangely relaxing. Sitting there, he could simply watch . . . and feel nothing.

"Skywalker," he murmured. "Why do you call me that, anyway? You know you can call me Luke."

Tasha was looking very seriously at her feet. "Did I ever tell you about the planet I came from?"

Luke frowned. This was an odd detour. "I don't think so."

She smiled, shaking back her tawny hair. "No, of course not." She turned her dark eyes on him meditatively. "I come from a backwater planet in the mid-rim. For thousands of years, the people of my planet lived in peace." She sighed, and her lips firmed into a thin line. "Until the Clone War. Apparently, our system was pivotal to some sort of supply line that the Separatists wanted to set up. My government was loyal to the Old Republic, and we gave what resistance we could. It probably seemed so little to them, but it was the most terrible struggle any of us had ever faced. We were beaten, but we held on, keeping them from total domination. We thought that the Republic had forgotten us, and that we would die in exile. But then . . . they came." She smiled faintly. "I was only a small child when I saw them, but I have never forgotten. Six thousand clone troopers and two Jedi. Kenobi and Skywalker."

Luke blinked.

Tasha smiled. "You knew, didn't you? About that Jedi Skywalker?"

Luke's throat was dry. "I know _of_ him. He . . . died, before I was born."

Putting out her hand, Tasha patted his shoulder gently. "I'm sorry. My father was . . . not always available, either." She took her hand away and cleared her throat. "They were liberating the entire system, but they set up base on our planet because we had so much extra space. We had a lot of undeveloped land. At least we did." A bitter look crossed her expressive face. "Before the Empire."

Luke now did his best to cheer her. "A lot of planets were ruined by the Empire. That's why so many systems are joining - or at least supporting - the Alliance."

"You think I don't know that, Skywalker? Why do you think I'm here?" She frowned in annoyance. "Anyway, Jedi Skywalker."

"Yes, about him," Luke echoed quietly.

"He was brilliant. You should have seen him, Luke, when he fought. It was like a dance . . . a beautiful, frightening dance."

"Weren't you just a kid?" Luke interrupted. "What were you doing anywhere near the battle?"

Tasha swallowed. "My family was highly-placed in the government. One day, the droids broke through into the part of the city where my family lived. We were trapped - and the Jedi came." She was looking far beyond the small cockpit, an inner glow emanating from deep within her dark eyes. "They came down the street - they ran so fast that their clone troopers looked like they weren't even moving. And before the troopers could even get there, all the droids were twitching piles of metal. We counted, afterward. Fifty droids, in about five seconds. I was only five, but the memory is so clear to me. Jedi Skywalker - he saved my life. And he smiled as he did it." She looked at him in that direct way she had. "His eyes were darker than yours. But the shape of the eyes is very similar."

"It's funny, 'cause I don't even know what he looks like." Luke sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

"No, what's funny is that I would give anything not to know my father," Tasha said. Her face and her voice were both set. "Your father was a hero. My father is nothing more than a traitor and a murderer. You see, he was the one who let the droids through the defenses while the Jedi were away fighting another battle. It was a miracle that they came in time to save us. Somehow, my father was part of Emperor Palpatine's hatemongers, the ones who rose up against the Jedi and turned the Republic into an Empire. Now, he's a Imperial officer and he's out oppressing the populace. I haven't seen him since I was fifteen." She turned her head away as if from a bad memory. "I'm always afraid that I will, though. Every time we go up against the Empire, I think, 'I wonder if this will be the time that I'll see my father at the head of a troop of stormtroopers, or commanding a fleet of Star Destroyers, or . . ." She broke off with a shiver. "I envy you your father. I'd give anything for a father like that."

Luke thought of Tasha's memory of the brilliant Jedi, slicing through fields of droids with a smile on his face. "Yeah, so would I."

Tasha looked at him. "Sorry to stir up bad memories. You should sleep - you look beat."

Luke stood. "Yeah, I should. So should you - we're going to have an exciting next few days."

She didn't stand immediately, staring once again at her feet, propped up on the dashboard. "Yeah. See ya in a few hours."

He left, his mind still filled with that vision of a Jedi wearing his face, smiling as he saved a planet. _I guess . . . I guess that was what Jedi did,_ he thought.

Not too far away, Theo woke.

_Time to get to work,_ the familiar voice said. _You know what to do. Don't let the boy see what you are again._

_It's going to be difficult,_ Theo thought back. _I've never been taught to hide myself, only what I am._

_Difficult tasks are what you were created for,_ the voice reminded him, and then it was gone.


	11. Chapter 10: Caring and Neglect

**Author's Note:**** There's been a lot of speculation about who Lieutenant Theo really is and what he wants – and who he's working for. All I can say is: keep reading, you'll find out soon! :D**

Theo crept through the quiet ship, keeping his back to the wall and his blaster in his hand. There was no knowing if Skywalker had caught his presence already, but he had to find a way to complete his mission in spite of the difficulties involved in sneaking around a Jedi.

The other voice in his head was gone, for a time, in order to avoid attracting notice again. Theo always hated it when the voice was gone. It was hard to concentrate, hard to think without the crystal-edged clarity the other mind gave him. In a way, he also hated this weakness. He was grateful for the trust implied by such a connection, but it also made him vulnerable without it. And he had never been so aware of this weakness before.

The Jedi frightened him. Without the voice there to tell him what the boy was thinking, reminding him to shield his thoughts with a haze of emotions, and to quicken his thoughts and his reactions, he knew that he was vulnerable. He hated the necessity of the abandonment, hated Skywalker for getting into his mind and noticing the difference. Come to that, he hated the blasted Jedi for merely existing.

But hate was a loud emotion, or so he had been told, and he was seeking to avoid notice. So he pushed his thoughts deep into his mind and concentrated on plans. It had also been necessary to come up with a spur-of-the-moment plan because of the Jedi. Plans were never a good idea to hold to around one of their cursed Order - it was too likely that they'd pluck the thought right out of your head. So he crept past the rooms on silent feet, heading for the cockpit. Plans of sabotage were forming, but went spiraling from his mind when he saw the woman asleep in the pilot's chair. Her breathing and the stillness of her face convinced him that she was deeply asleep, not likely to wake up for a while.

Theo began to smile. This made everything a lot easier.

* * *

Vader stalked along the shiny-black hallway, his movements deliberate and unhurried, his anger swirling, like his cloak, around his tall frame. The hallways were swarming with black, white, and grey-garbed crew, but a bubble of empty space surrounded the Sith Lord always.

He entered the bridge, and silence fell, thick as ice in the air. Piett seemed to be trying to make himself invisible against the nearest console, but Vader did not hesitate to approach him.

"We are fully powered once again?" Vader said quietly.

Piett swallowed visibly. "Yes, my lord. It was nothing we did, however. The saboteur sent a signal back which wiped out the damage."

"Are we certain he is not still on the ship?" Vader stared at the readout on the console which Piett had been reading.

"My lord, I do have good new . . ." Piett faltered visibly as Vader's black-masked face swung around to regard him once again. He cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon. We were able to track the signal."

Vader was quiet for a moment, as everyone within hearing distance strained to hear his reply. "Theo is clever. Can it be determined absolutely that it is not a fake?"

"No – no, it is quite certain." Piett gestured at the readout. "The signal was encrypted, but we managed to pinpoint the sender. He is en route to a planet in the Chomell system . . . Naboo?" Piett glanced at the tech seated at the console for confirmation, so he missed Vader's response. The Dark Lord's shoulders hunched, as if in pain.

"N-Naboo. Indeed." Piett stared, astonished by Vader's tone. After a brief, humorless chuckle, Vader continued. "This man is more dangerous than I had supposed."

Piett's face was the color of chalk. "I'm sorry, my Lord," he stammered. "Is there something I should know?"

Vader shook his head. "No. Take the fleet to Naboo. We'll find what we are looking for there." He pointed a black-gloved finger at his shaking second-in-command. "And take care, Admiral, that this does not happen again. I would not like to have to hunt for a replacement for you as well."

Piett swallowed, nodding, but Vader had already turned and left the room. Turning to the frightened tech, Piett said, "Set a course for the Chomell system. And, lieutenant," he continued more softly, running a finger around his collar, "Just check those readouts one last time?"

* * *

_Fragments._

_Snatches of song, blown away by the wind._

_Laughter, dying as it faded into the distance._

_Purple eyes glancing off him, quick as a blaster bolt, and as painful – and he knew exactly how painful that was._

_Esserec knew that he was waking up, because the pain was returning, but, strangely, the memories continued to cling to him like mynocks on a space cruiser. Just as the other Esserec had returned with him, so were the memories of a thousand other hims, and the incessant whirling of their thoughts, some happy, some sad, some full of fear, others colored by rage._

_They all came back with him._

_He could not have named the planet where he became a Commander, but he knew exactly where another Esserec had found the focusing crystal for his lightsaber. It flashed through his mind, glowing blue, and then was gone. He could not remember any of his combat training in the Imperial Navy, but he could recall every moment spent with his Jedi Master, Anakin Skywalker. And although he knew that he had never been married, he relived over and over the day that the Jedi Order finally allowed him to marry Lynn._

_It was those thoughts of her, actually, that nearly lost him. He couldn't bear to go back to that place where she wasn't and never would be. He sank deeper into the whirlwind, allowing phantom memories of eyes and laughter and happiness to overwhelm him._

Esserec?

_Yes, Lynn, he responded happily, reaching out a hand to follow after a thousand swirling memories of her._

You're killing yourself, you know.

_The voice made him shiver, because it seemed to come between him and the memories, shutting him away from the golden light and the shimmering flowers of his dream._

You can't go after her. She died a long time ago.

_No. He denied it vehemently, violently, striking out with all the memories he had, scant and fading though they were, of purple eyes and soft kisses and marble floors gilded with sunlight that they had tread together. She's _here_, I can see her._

But, Esserec, _the voice told him softly, _you're not there. And soon you won't be anywhere. Can't you see? Your head is filled with other people's memories. Your mind can't hold out for much longer. Already you're forgetting who you are.

_He hurt, inside and out. I don't want to live as I was anymore. Let the blasterbolt kill me, I don't care. Just let me stay here with her._

This is not your destiny, Essie. You're meant for more than just to die of madness in a dispensary. You have to save Luke.

_Luke? It was then that the memories became grey and cold. The Jedi? How can _I_ save _him_? He sought for the speaker, but searching in that torrent of thought, though sensations as bright as a star and as cold as the far reaches of space, was akin to trying to run backwards through hyperspace._

Wake up. Wake up, _the voice repeated._

* * *

Luke was sleeping uneasily, his dreams of exploding X-wings and dark shadows intermingled with bright blue lightsabers slicing fields of droids into sparking pieces. The face above the lightsaber was sometimes Obi-Wan's, blue eyes brilliant against tan skin and white beard, but often it was Luke's own face, lit with a deadly glow.

Then he noticed that someone was tugging on his sleeve. Feeling that while caught up in the midst of a battle was very disorienting, and his dream faded. Turning, he found himself looking into the serious face of Rosa, the dead Padawan.

"Hi," she said.

"Am I still dreaming?" he asked, looking around. He was back in his room on the shuttle, sitting on the bed, and she was standing in front of him, eerily similar to the other time that she had come to visit him.

"I don't know," she said calmly. "I'm never sure whether I live in the dream world or the waking world. A bit of both, I think."

"So I am dreaming," Luke said.

"Does it matter?" She shifted restlessly. "The Force does as the Force wills. We have no say in the matter. We're just . . . tools." Luke thought that her bright purple eyes seemed faded, like wilted violets against her pale face. She saw him looking and shifted her gaze abruptly. "I died as a thirteen-year-old," she said softly. "The Force never asked me if that was okay."

"My father is a Sith Lord who wants to turn me to the Dark Side," Luke answered. "I never asked for that, either."

Rosa turned away, her hands deep in her billowing brown robe, her head turning from side to side as though she sought escape. "What if things had been different though? What if our destinies had been different?" Her voice caught, roughened by – tears? Anger? He wasn't sure.

"Rosa, what's the matter?" Luke tried to stand, but found that he couldn't move. "You're not here to give me advice? How to turn my father back to the good side? How to restore the Jedi, take down the Empire?"

Rosa sighed, a soft sound. "Your destiny will lead you there, Luke. You don't need me for that. I have no more comfort to give. My destiny led me here – a ghost, a lingerer, waiting, wanting things I can't have. A life I'll only be able to glimpse, like sunlight shining through water I'm drowning in."

Compassion stabbed through Luke. "I don't understand, Rosa. I'm sorry for whatever it is."

"You don't have to worry about it." She turned to give him a small smile. "It's not your fault. Vader is my brother in the Jedi way, so it is impossible for me to hate him for making the choice that doomed me." Turning back, she continued. "I just came to ask you. A favor. I – I can't do it myself."

"Just ask, Rosa. You've helped me, I want to return the favor."

"Just – When Esserec wakes up."

"Esserec?" Luke was quiet.

"The Imperial officer. He'll wake up soon." She turned to face him again, blinking away something that might have been tears.

Luke frowned. "He's dying, Rosa. Hobbie said he wouldn't last the week, and probably wouldn't wake up again. His brain levels and heart rate are so low -"

"He's in a Healing Trance," Rosa interrupted impatiently. "He is using the Force to heal himself."

"He can do that?" Luke said, amazed. "Is he a Jedi?"

"In the old days -" Rosa bit her lip. "It was something every Youngling was taught, but he's no Jedi. Esserec is an anomaly, Luke. He travels between parallel dimensions when he sleeps, experiences other lives lived by his own parallel selves. He's seen what life would be like for everyone if . . . if things had been different."

Luke was silent. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Vader, Luke. Vader! It's always about him. If he had never turned. If my brother had been stronger, more aware. More careful. Your mother still lives, there. _I_ still live. And in that life . . . I . . . I . . ." She broke off, spoke carefully. "The other Esserec, in the alternate universe, is a Jedi. He helped Esserec start the healing trance."

"How did that even happen?" Luke whispered, awed.

"So I just wanted to tell you." She swirled away, her boots soundless against the metal floor. "When he wakes, he may be a bit disoriented. He's been living in a different world – many different worlds, actually. Listen to him. He may have something to tell you." She turned to pin him with her blazing eyes. "And don't tell him about me. I don't want him to know."

"Why not?" Luke asked.

"Because I'm a dramatic thirteen-year-old. I'm never going to be anything else, so I might as well enjoy it." There was no humor in her voice. She paused. "And Luke. You're in danger here. Watch your back, your front, your sides – I'd watch above and below, too." She curved her lips into a tiny smile. "You have a terrible time remembering that those are directions from which an attack might come." She paused. "Good night, Luke. Sleep well."

"You, too," he replied automatically, and she smiled again before fading into darkness.

* * *

Tasha woke up with her feet still on the dashboard of the ship's helm and with a massive crick in her neck. Wincing, she slid her feet to the floor and leaned forward, massaging her neck with one hand and trying to restore circulation to her feet with the other.

That was why she missed the cockpit's other occupant for so long. A split second after she saw him, she was on her numb feet, fumbling at her hip for her gun. It was not there.

The dark-haired man smiled patronizingly. "You won't find it there," he said, tapping the holster at his side where, she could see, her gun was securely resting, and probably had been for hours now. He was wearing dark clothing, well-worn boots, and enough firepower to kill everyone on the ship several times over.

Tasha calmed slightly. If dead was how he wanted her, dead she would already have been. "So I was right. This ship _is_ a trap."

"Naturally." His smile hadn't slipped. "See, I helped you escape. More than you realize, actually. Did you think that you got past those Star Destroyers simply by luck? Not even Rebels could be that stupid. I worked hard to ensure that those idiots couldn't interfere. I helped you, now _you_" his smile slipped slightly, and his dark eyes were cold, "are going to help me."

"I don't remember asking for your help," Tasha said, her mind working frantically. There was only one thing on this ship worth whoever this man was going to all this trouble if he didn't even work for the Empire. Luke.

"You didn't have to ask," the dark-haired . . . assassin? Bounty hunter? . . . replied. "You have something that I want."

_Bingo. _"I'm afraid our collective consciousness is kind of worthless," Tasha said, playing dumb as she tried to work out how she was going to alert the others. Assuming that he hadn't already taken care of them. Then why was he talking to her? "We're kinda kept in the dark about the Alliance's plans, for situations exactly like this one. We don't even know where the fleet is headed."

"Luckily, it isn't information I'm after. It's a person, and I'm sure you know that I'm not after Wing Commander Antilles." He gestured at the door. "And you're going to ensure that I get him without any fuss."

So, she was to be a captive. "What if I said I preferred that you killed me?" Which was easier said than done, but he didn't know that.

"I'm sure your Commander would prefer that it didn't come to that." He smiled again, and her blood surged with fear. There was no pity, nor any humanity, in that smile. "However, to make sure you don't make any trouble while I'm negotiating, and also to get him to come here for me . . ." His gun twitched, and then he pulled the trigger. The resulting red bolt hit her leg right above the knee.

Tasha thought, as her leg collapsed under her and she fell to the ground, _please, let Luke not have heard that._

It was a foolish hope, as she had already known, and moments later there was a commotion at the door. The next second, the dark-haired man had grabbed her and levered her up to kneel beside him on the floor, his blaster jabbing into her neck. Tasha's leg throbbed, and she knew that she was bleeding onto the floor, but she didn't dare move to check the damage. The pain was not too severe, which frightened her. She knew that the wound had to be deep.

Running footsteps outside the door, and voices calling from behind the door. "What was that?" "Who's in there?" "Where's Tasha?"

"Come in here," the assassin called out to the door, "and we'll get to see if this woman really has any brains."

There was a silence, and then Wedge's voice replied, "you won't kill her. You need her so we won't kill you."

"But I'm sure you would prefer – as would I – to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. All I want is an exchange."

There was a brief flurry of voices from beyond the door, during which Tasha tried desperately to hear if Luke was there.

Then he spoke. It was his calm, reasonable voice, and Tasha wished him a thousand light-years away from this dangerous man. "You're willing to trade for Tasha? What do you want in return?"

Tasha felt the man relax when he heard Luke's voice. "Am I speaking to the illustrious Jedi Luke Skywalker?"

Silence. "How do you know that I am a Jedi?" Luke said softly.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that Jedi are my business. You, Jedi, in return for this woman before she bleeds to death."

It was no idle threat. Tasha felt dizzy, and her vision was going white around the edges. The man jabbed the blaster muzzle even harder into her neck, and she couldn't help letting a gasp escape her lips.

"Don't hurt her!" Luke said urgently. "May I send someone in to check that she's all right? Please, and then we can discuss things more thoroughly."

"Like how you're going to get off this ship alive," someone interjected savagely. Janson, Tasha thought distantly.

"Send someone in if you like. I haven't lied about her condition," the assassin said, and she knew that he was smiling again. Triumphantly. She wanted to jab him in the ribs or something, but she knew that she didn't have the strength to hurt him. So she just kept her eyes open to watch as Hobbie came slowly into the room, stopping just inside the door as the man held up a hand warningly. "Not too close. Heroes aren't my favorite people."

"Tasha? Can you hear me?" Hobbie said, pitching his voice as low and nonthreatening as he could. Tasha couldn't speak, but she nodded slowly. "She's lost a lot of blood," Hobbie said, half to the assassin, half to the people beyond the door. "Please, at least try to stop the bleeding," he said to the man, who shook his head.

"I want to make sure you don't take too much time deciding. She doesn't have long, and the medical facilities on this ship are extremely minimal."

Hobbie nodded tightly, then retreated through the door. Tasha felt sick. _How could I have been this stupid,_ she wondered. _How could we all?_


	12. Chapter 11: Vulnerable and Strong

**Author's Note: Almost done! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with it and kept reading. :) Hope you like the ending.**

****Things were going well for Theo. The plan that had sprung to mind when he had found the sleeping woman in the cockpit was working surprisingly well. He watched the tousle-haired pilot as he examined her condition – from a distance – and knew what the diagnosis was going to be. The wound was allowing the escape of precious blood from her system, and she would have only minutes left before she passed out. Death wouldn't be long in coming after that.

_No, they'll have to cooperate, as far as that goes. Then once I've got Skywalker where I want him, I'll immobilize him and transport him to the drop-off location. It's a good plan. It's a good plan._

But his mind was still wavering, still looking for confirmation from that other voice that was no longer there. He didn't really know if it was a good plan because he hadn't been told.

_It'll work, it'll work,_ he thought as dread sank like a stone into the pit of his stomach.

* * *

He opened his eyes, amazed that he was not in more pain. The overpowering waves of nausea and agony had subsided into a mere ache, soon to be nothing more than memory.

The real pain was in his mind. Thousands of voices, scents, sensations of pain and fear and joy, filled him brimful. He could barely see through the kaleidescope of colors and feelings to the dim grey room that really surrounded him.

_. . . eyes the color of amethyst, the color of the sky just as the sun vanished behind the horizon . . ._

_. . . he put out his hand to heal her, and the wound closed . . ._

_. . . she pulled him tightly to her, pressing her face against his chest . . ._

"Lynn?" he called out, unable to stop himself before he realized that she was not there. The room was silent. He looked around, noticing that he was in a sparsely-furnished dispensary, but even that he could not be sure of.

_. . . she squeezed his hand, smiling . . ._

_. . . long, dark strands of hair slipped through his fingers . . ._

_. . . Lynn . . ._

"Stop it," he whispered, almost sickened by the dizzying sensations that were bombarding him with their sweet, seductive lies.

The voice that had spoken to him – surely that was no dream? It had grounded him more firmly in his true body, while the other voices sought to draw him away, to try to walk on the shifting, heaving water of the many, many other lives his body lived, separated only by inches that were as wide as galaxies.

It had been Lynn's voice. He had heard her. And she had told him to protect Luke. It was something to focus on, anyway, apart from the thousands of things he saw every second that threatened to shatter his mind into separate, gibbering pieces, each one a different "him."

_. . . his boots clicked on stone, his mind determined – they couldn't say no this time . . ._

_. . . he flew through the air, glorying in the Force and his own strength . . ._

_. . . she stood beside him, and there was no fear . . ._

"Got to save Luke," Esserec gasped. "Save Luke."

He wrenched his body upright and slid onto the floor, amazed that his wobbly legs could hold him upright. He was clothed, he noted distantly, in a clammy white robe, but his bloody grey uniform was wadded up on a nearby table, along with his belt which – miracle of miracles – still contained his holdout blaster.

Squinting against the pain building behind his temples, Esserec slid his hand onto the grip. "Save Luke," he repeated.

* * *

Death Squadron, Darth Vader's personal fleet, streaked through the coruscating blue light of hyperspace, heading with deadly purpose towards the one place that Vader feared.

It was too soon.

His black-gloved hands clenched convulsively on the metal balustrade. Too soon to see sunlight bathe golden stone, too soon to smell the perfume of a thousand flowers. Too soon for his fragile hold upon himself to be tested. Too soon, after that dream of her, to remember how things had been before the darkness had taken them both.

Vader knew that the Force guided all things. The orbit of planets, the minds of men, the stately march of time. He knew that it was no coincidence, this collision course with his past. He had avoided this moment for years, content to hide in darkness, pretend that his feelings had all died away with her last breath.

But he lied to himself, and although he knew that he lied, it made things easier. He found it was easier to hide behind hate and rage and blame than to face the fact that she was dead. Easier to curse Obi-Wan, to expunge the Jedi Order from the face of the galaxy, than it was to accept that her death was his own fault.

He turned away from the window. _Padme._ Something deep within his chest ached.

_I'd better go see one of the medical droids,_ he thought dully. _My rebreather mechanism isn't supposed to hurt like this._

The sharp sound of boots rapping against the polished metal floor assaulted his ears. "Lord Vader," a voice spoke from behind him.

Vader swung around, his face-plate glinting with a thousand deadly fires. "I asked to be left alone," he said.

The young officer's face paled. "I-I apologize, my Lord. Ad-Admiral P-Piett thought this n-news to be urgent, I . . ."

"Tell me quickly, then, and get out of my sight."

Stumbling over his words, the officer said, "Lieutenant Theo is not the only person unaccounted for, my lord. We are also unable to locate the commander of the 501st, Esserec Wessere."

Vader's mind froze.

_Padme's nephew. Of course._

"When we checked out his background, we uncovered the fact that his home planet is Naboo," the officer continued. "It is considered likely that he is the true source of the sabotage, and that Theo is either his accomplice, or dead. . . . My Lord?" His voice climbed into the high registers of unease as he waited for Vader to reply.

Shaking himself out of his shock, Vader glowered at the young man. "This only makes our search more urgent. However, when we catch Wessere, _I _will deal with him. No one else. Understood?"

The officer nodded. "I will notify Admiral Piett," he said, clicking his booted heels together and striding from the room.

* * *

Hobbie squeezed back through the door, eyes and mouth grim. "Tasha's hurt bad," he said quietly to Luke. All of the squadron was crouched behind the mostly-closed door to the cockpit, and Luke was kneeling right beside the opening, his blue eyes cold and hard in the weak light of the overhead glowpanels. "She won't last much longer. He shot her in the leg above the knee. She won't walk for a week, and that's if I get her to the tank soon."

"How soon is soon?" Wedge's lips were tight, and his eyes sparked with fury. "If Tasha dies because of that . . ."

Janson turned to Luke. "You're thinking of going in there, aren't you?" He must have seen something in Luke's eyes, because he hissed, "Luke, you can't. Not even for Tasha. She'd rather die than let you go over to some bounty hunter."

"That's not much of a choice, Janson," Luke whispered back. Anger had been growing in him, a creeping darkness that would not dissipate no matter how hard he shoved it down. The thought of some smooth-voiced, dead-eyed assassin wounding Tasha, just to capture "the Last of the Jedi," made Luke's blood boil.

He hadn't heard Tasha say anything from the time they arrived after hearing the blaster shot, and his stomach lurched as he wondered if she were even still conscious. _She doesn't have any time for us to waste_, he said, and he stood up.

The rest of Rogue Squadron was silent as they watched as Luke inched his way into the cockpit, hands in front to show that he was unarmed. Blue light from the hyperspace show outside the viewport danced on strands of Tasha's hair. Her eyes were half-closed, and her head was lolling against the dark-haired man's shoulder. Her left leg bore a nasty wound, and the floor and her clothes were soaked with blood.

"Wise move, Skywalker, or do you prefer Luke?" said the man in a calm, integrating voice.

"We're not here to play games," Luke replied, his eyes and mind boring into the dark-haired man's. He was playing hide-and-go-seek with the other man's mind, but it slipped away at his every attempt to perceive the man's thoughts and motives. "You know my name, do I get to know yours?"

"Call me Theo. It's not my real name, but that hardly matters," he replied. "What matters is that my ship is hidden in a smuggler's compartment. And what matters is that we – you and I – will both be leaving on it shortly, because soon even bacta won't be able to save this lovely young woman."

"I can see that." Luke looked again at Tasha, whose eyes had opened wider to stare at him. "Do you often shoot defenseless women just to get people's attention?"

Theo's dark eyes narrowed. "Not unless I want their full attention. And I can see I've got yours."

"Yes, you've got it." Luke returned his gaze to Tasha. Her eyes were fully closed now, dark shadows in her pale face, and her head was beginning to sag forwards. "You said something about an exchange. Me for Tasha? How do you plan to get off a hostile ship without dying?"

"It's simple, really. Your men will return to their rooms. Anyone tries any heroics, you and the girl will learn firsthand about my years of combat training. I will take the ship out of hyperspace and you and I – and the girl -"

"Her name is Tasha," Luke said quietly.

"You and and I and _Tasha_ . . ." Theo said as calmly, "will then proceed to my ship. Your men will wait until my ship has gone into hyperspeed. Then they can come out of their rooms and help _Tasha_ to her comfortable hospital bed. They are even free to pursue us, if they want. I wish them luck." He was smiling. Luke got the joke, but didn't laugh. Instead, he worked on his implacable Jedi calm and held down his rage.

Turning, Luke looked out the doorway at Wedge and the others. "Do as he says, Rogues," Luke said in a commanding voice. "Go to your rooms and please, don't try any heroics."

Wedge's teeth were grinding almost audibly, and Janson looked ready to rebel, but after a moment of tense silence they nodded tersely and began to stand and reluctantly walk to their separate rooms.

"May I help you carry Tasha?" Luke said to the curly-haired bounty hunter.

"No, I think it would be better if you walked ahead of us. Not too far, though." In a smooth, practiced maneuver, Theo slid Tasha over his shoulder with her head dangling over his chest, and pointed the blaster at Luke. "Now let's go, Skywalker. Nice and easy, I do know how to handle a blaster."

"I believe you," Luke replied, his mind racing, darting at ideas like a bird banging against a mirror. This man was dangerous, that much was obvious. He had shot Tasha in cold blood, knowing that they wouldn't risk losing her, and now he had everyone right where he wanted them. It was a good plan, and Luke's vision blurred with the intensity of his trying to envision a way out, the Force singing through his tense body like electricity through a wire, but even with the Force, there was no way to get Tasha away from Theo before he could shoot her. Not without a lightsaber. No, he would have to be disabled after she was safe, perhaps before they boarded the ship, or maybe even after.

But Theo was smart, and he knew that Luke couldn't really capitulate this easily. No, he'd have some plan for what to do with Luke once Tasha was no longer around as collateral.

Luke hoped Theo tried to kill him. Then he'd find out how fast a Jedi could be.

They made their tense way past the dormitories, through a silence so thick that the tap of Luke's boots against the floor sounded like a repeater rifle going off right next to his ear. He had never before realized how loud his own heartbeat was.

They entered the cavernous dark of the hold, the ceiling rising above them to disappear into blackness. Away to the left, a hole gaped in the pattern of the metallic floor, and a shaped hunkered down in it. Luke's whole body tensed, but at that moment a blast shattered the crystal-edged stillness. Luke spun, his mind going blank with only one thought: _He's killed Tasha, I'll kill him -_

* * *

Lynne was not the type who held still willingly, or for long. Her body ached to move, to stretch, almost as if her soul were rebelling at the heavy, cloying mass of her material body and yearned to float free. She loved to be at the only home, apart from the Jedi Temple, that she had ever known, here at her husband's family's home on Naboo.

Family was almost as alien a concept to Lynne as "home" was. She had never known her birth family, although she had been told that her striking purple eyes marked her as having Tholothian ancestry, much like Jedi Master Adi Gallia. Lynne had never even had a last name until she had married Esserec.

She smoothed the silky counterpane that covered the bed on which Esserec had been lying comatose for almost two days now. He had fallen asleep suddenly, the same way that the visions of the "other" Esserec had been taking him, only he had not woken up. With Anakin's help, she had gotten him into the bed and she had been dashing in and out of the room, unable to leave him yet unable to sit still.

Jumping to her feet, she hurried over to the doorway, the darkness of the house lit only by flickering oil lanterns. _As if things needed to get spookier,_ she thought, grimacing as she accidentally touched the hot metal of the portable lamp she had reached for. Picking it up, she set out across the house, passing the room where, she sensed, Anakin was sleeping, dreaming about something dreadful. She shied away from the darkness that stalked his dreams and noticed that Padme was no longer in the room with him. She looked up and saw a golden light beckoning from the doorway of the kitchen, and she scampered across the smooth stone floor to greet the light.

The high-vaulted ceiling of the kitchen was lost in shadow, but the great stone fireplace had been heaped with coals, fire leaping across their blank faces and leaving its ashy imprint. Close to the fire on a pile of cushions knelt Padme, a steaming earthenware mug cupped in her small hands. Lynne hesitated, noticing a second cup on the floor beside the slender, dark-haired woman who was almost, in Lynne's estimation, the most perfect being in the galaxy. _She's expecting Anakin, I should go_ . . . Lynne thought, half-turning to leave.

"It's for you," Padme's soft voice was barely a whisper. She leaned her head back to take a sip. "The tea. I knew you'd be by sooner or later."

Lynne stepped forward, bending forward to take the tea and sinking into the soft pillows next to the smaller woman. She took a sip, the bitterness of the tea sinking into her tongue, brightened by a touch of honey. Lynne put the cup away. She didn't want the bitter, even with the sweet. "I saw what Anakin was dreaming," she said.

Padme nodded. "He won't tell me, and that's a bad sign. He often dreams," she shifted restlessly, finding a more comfortable position on the stonework, "and rarely is it about butterflies in spring or rainbows. Usually it's about death. My death, your death . . . Esserec . . ." She sighed and took another sip. "This is different, though, this is . . . really making him think."

"What a change," Lynne said dryly.

Padme flickered over a smile. "He's certainly gaining some perspective. However this is happening, I don't think it's altogther bad . . ."

Lynne gulped down half of her tea, scalding her mouth and throat. "Why is this happening? Esserec always had dreams, but they never – _possessed_ him before, they were always just something he would tell me about over breakfast, how they made him appreciate his own life. What can have gone _wrong_, that this is taking him over? Will he ever be back? I want to _help,_ Padme, but I don't know how."

Padme touched Lynne's hand. "I've thought that too, over the years, when everything would go wrong and I was confronted with things that I never had any training to face. But you're a Jedi, and Esserec loves you. If anyone can reach him, you can."

Lynne's eyes prickled. "I've tried to reach Esserec and failed. His mind is on a trip to a galaxy far, far away, and even if I traveled the galaxy over, he'd still be out of reach."

"Maybe you're trying too hard," Padme said. "Sometimes when you're reaching too hard, you can forget that what you're looking for is something entirely different." She frowned. "Have you slept lately?"

"Not for the past day and night," Lynne admitted.

"You might want to start with that. A good night's sleep might help you feel better." Padme rose. "I'm going to get back before Anakin misses me. Try and get some sleep, dear."

Lynne nodded, watching as the slender woman picked her way across the floor and vanished beyond the dark doorway. She cupped her warm cup between her hands and stared into the fire. It was warm and comfortable on the fire-warmed cushions, and she felt her eyelids drooping. She reached out to set the mug down before she dropped it . . .

And then it was like missing a stair in the dark. She plunged headlong into sleep, a void blacker than night surrounding her, colder than the space between stars, and yet more brilliant than the heart of a star, burning into the core of her being.

_You're here finally,_ a voice chirped at her. _I've been waiting _forever. _And you're lucky you came in time, because I really need to talk to you._

Lynne realized that she was walking, although how anyone could walk in an emptiness that had not the decency to be empty, a vacancy which filled all of her senses to capacity, was quite beyond her. _Wh-where am I?_ she gasped. A body she had, but not the one she was accustomed to. It was much smaller, weaker, a young girl's body. If _body_ were the right word . . . It did not seem to be a body, as Lynne was used to one.

The body belonged to the void, to the overwhelming, terrifying _muchness _of the openness that had no end. Or perhaps the body _was _the void. Instead of being confined to a shell of flesh, this body . . . being . . . soul . . . was much more like light and it contained everything. Or nothing. Lynne had trouble making the distinction.

_Did I . . . die?_ She wondered.

_No, _you_ didn't._ The voice was still cheerful, a child speaking of facts that it did not fully understand. _It's okay. Don't be afraid. I've been looking for you. You're one with the Force. It can be scary at first, but nothing's going to hurt you here. I need you to trust me, okay?_

_Who are you? What are you?_ Lynne replied hurriedly.

_You'll understand when you see me. C'mon, we need to hurry!_ If Lynne had had a hand, and that hand could also feel, she would have sworn that warm little fingers had wrapped around it. _Please don't be afraid._

And Lynne couldn't honestly say that she wasn't. _I just. I just don't know what I'm doing here._

The little fingers tugged. _Esserec needs you._

Lynne felt a heart beating, approximately where one would have been had she been in a body still. _Esserec. Let's go then._


	13. Chapter 12

Before, Esserec would have looked on the situation with the eyes of a brutal Imperial commander. _Good,_ he would have thought, _This stormtrooper is doing well._ Any sympathy that the blood and pain of the woman being dragged through the cold corridors would have been crushed; any squeamish impulse removed. Imperial Commander Wesseré would have watched the helplessness of the Rebels with cold satisfaction.

But it was not quite Imperial Commander Esserec Wesseré who was watching, and the thought 'Rebel' did not even enter his mind. Theo might have had an ally in Esserec, except for one thing:

Luke.

The memories of the other Esserec were strong in his mind, their feelings and loyalties vying with equal power with the ones that Commander Wesseré had personally experienced.

Esserec looked at the face of the young Jedi and knew him to be a Skywalker, but the hatred did not come. That face, so new and so familiar, called to mind the faces of a family that Esserec had never known but now knew to be his own. His master, his aunt, his wife . . .

That face, Luke's face, the face of the little brother that Esserec had never known yet knew so well. Luke did not know Esserec, but Esserec knew him. So the hatred did not come.

_Luke,_ thought Esserec. _Cousin. Brother. Family._

_Skywalker._

He raised his arm to shoulder height, took aim, and shot the stormtrooper at point-blank range.

* * *

Luke spun around, his body tense, the Force singing through him. Then he froze. Tasha and Theo were in a pile on the floor, and behind them, in the light of the door, was the dark-haired Imperial, incongruously wrapped in a white robe and holding a small blaster. What had Rosa called him?

"Esserec?" Luke said, taking a step forward. "You - you _are_ alive?"

Esserec's eyes darted up towards Luke. There was sweat beading his forehead. Luke tried to catch hold of the Imperial's thoughts, but found he couldn't. "You know me?"

"Well - no - someone told me your name." Luke took a breath. "I was told that you were important."

The man jerked his head from side to side. _No_. "I'm not. Just take the girl and go," Esserec said. "I'll take care of him."

Still, Luke hesitated. "Do you know what he wanted with me?"

Esserec stared down at the limp body of the black-haired man. "Probably a bounty hunter," he said at last. Luke didn't need the Force to know that this was, at best, an evasion, at worst a total lie. "I'll deal with him. You take the girl to medical."

"What are you going to do?" Luke asked.

"Question him," Esserec said shortly. Luke tried again to get a grip on the man's thoughts, but somehow they slipped past his mental probe like shadows or mist through a net. In the end, it was only the thought of Tasha's worsening condition that forced Luke to step past the two men and out of the hangar.

He walked through the halls to medical and gently lay Tasha on the table, then began bandaging her leg while calling Hobbie on his comm. "Hobbie? Get up here. Tasha needs your help. Get the others out, too."

"_You got him? I'll be right out."_

Luke didn't feel like explaining, so he merely switched to Wedge's comm. "Hey, we've got an injured bounty hunter, spy, whatever, in the hold, and an Imperial I'm being to wonder why I brought in the first place . . ."

He trailed off. He distinctly heard repulsorlifts coming from the direction of the hold. "Blast!" he half-yelled as he threw his commlink down and charged out of medical, nearly knocking Hobbie and Janson down in his rush. "We've got to stop him - it's the Imperial –"

"He's _awake?_" Hobbie gasped, but Luke was already streaking back to the hold as fast as his Force-enhanced body could take him.

He was still too late, of course. He could only clench his fists in helpless rage as he watched the small spacecraft zoom from the cargo bay into the blackness of outer space, and then streak into hyperspace a few moments later.

"Why did I rescue him?" Luke demanded of the echoing cargo bay, of Rosa, of the Force.

* * *

Esserec made sure that the small, sleek fighter was headed in the right direction before returning to his prisoner, whom he had dragged onto the dispensary floor. Theo was already awake, his brown eyes deadly and penetrating.

"I should have known better than to leave you to the Rebels," he said softly. "Look, they've got you fixed up better than ever. They can't do anything right, can they?"

Esserec still carried his small holdout blaster. He held it carefully in front of him as he knelt next to the injured man to assess his injuries. "So it would seem," he replied, pushing the man over to look at the wound in his back. Memories, not his own, were dancing in front of his eyes, distracting him.

_. . . he was seated in front of a low workbench, carefully inserting a blue crystal into his first lightsaber - his Master sat next to him, silent, encouragement flowing through the Force . . ._

_. . . they were in a small fighter, heading for a backwater planet in the darkest part of the Outer Rim . . ._

_. . . the voice that strangled his mind, that laugh shot through his brain . . ._

Shaking away the thoughts that were not his, Esserec slapped a medpack onto the messy wound that had just missed blowing a hole in Theo's spine. Moving his muscles helped focus his mind, but he could feel the encroaching memories threatening to blank out his mind again. "Are you working for Vader?" Esserec asked.

"What do you think?" Esserec couldn't see Theo's face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice.

"This is really not the time for you to be playing games, Theo," Esserec said quietly, but the anger was building up inside him. Memories teased at his consciousness – he shoved them back. He let Theo lay back and looked into the man's cold brown eyes, and he saw -

_. . .they were surrounded, twenty to two . . ._

_. . . she was breathing her last, choking on lifeblood . . ._

_. . . the universe held its breath . . ._

"Games? You're so wound up, so on edge," Theo said, and he laughed slightly.

"Answer me!" Esserec snapped, bringing the blaster up to point at Theo's face.

. . . _the Dark Jedi laughed, his yellow eyes flickering madly . . ._

_. . . a kind of clarity seemed to come over him, blinding him as his lightsaber fell . . ._

_. . . he laughed . . ._

"Shut up!" Esserec shouted, stepping forward towards his vision, then halting as Theo's calculating eyes appeared in front of him again. He swallowed, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. The bursting pain calmed the turmoil in his mind. "I asked you, are you working for Vader?"

"You mean 'Skywalker?'" Theo replied mockingly. "I knew that you were dangling over the edge of insanity when you asked me if I knew that name. And since you're so insistent, I did indeed shoot you on Vader's orders. It seemed he felt threatened by your interest in his former name. I'd have let you be. You would never have found out on your own."

Esserec's blaster hand wavered. "He ordered me killed." _Of course,_ he thought bitterly. _He knew exactly who "Skywalker" was, and who it was that had killed my aunt._ Blinking away the image of Vader and Padmé and Lynne. . . and himself . . . laughing and eating in a low-end diner, Esserec stared at Theo. "And you're after that Jedi, Skywalker, on Vader's orders, as well."

Theo's face didn't twitch, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course," he said smoothly. "Vader personally deals with Jedi slime - that's common knowledge."

"You're lying." Esserec squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his mind being hammered -

. . . _the room was quiet, respect for the dead - the only remaining living too scared to talk . . ._

_. . . black-cowled figures surrounded them, all carrying red lightsabers . . ._

_. . . Lynne lay silently on the floor, eyes half-open, a smooth, smoking gash across her torso . . ._

"No!" Esserec gasped. "No, I saved –" He opened his eyes to glare at Theo.

"You're insane, aren't you?" Theo was smirking. "Why don't you just kill me?"

"You shot me–" Esserec muttered, still trying to shake the image of Lynne's glazed, dead eyes.

"And what is this, karmic justice?" Theo snarled. "Just shoot me."

"I'm not going to shoot you, Theo," Esserec told him. "You're more useful to me alive. And you're not going to be recovering from that wound any time soon. At least not enough to walk, or move your arms."

Theo bared his teeth. "You're a coward, Wesseré. You didn't have the courage to shoot that Jedi slime Skywalker when you had the chance, and now you don't even have the guts to kill me. You won't stand a chance against Vader."

Esserec's thoughts turned to a vision he had had, long ago, so long it seemed like a thousand years in the past - he turned to see himself, dead on a street in Naboo, Lynne bending over him, weeping . . . he had spoken, then - _I'll be seeing you . . ._ His mind burned with hope. "No," he whispered. "But I'll get close enough to see the same pain in his eyes that . . ." He broke off, refocusing on Theo's blazing eyes. "You're nothing but bait, Theo - how does that make you feel?"

"About the same way _you_ feel on a regular basis, I should imagine." Theo laughed, the sound grating in his throat. "You are a fool. You won't get within twenty meters of Vader before he chokes the life out of you." His eyes were straining open, the deep brown color gone ashen grey in the harsh light. "What do you want, anyway, Wessere? Why go to all this trouble just to kill Vader – excuse me, _try _to kill Vader – just because he's a Skywalker? He's done worse things as Darth Vader than he ever did as Anakin Skywalker."

Esserec didn't hear him clearly, because his mind was too busy seeing other things.

_. . . his Master twirled Lynne around in a wide circle, she screaming in delight and fear . . ._

_. . . blue eyes glanced over at him with the brilliant light of a sun, half-shielded behind narrowed lids . . ._

_. . . Vader – no, Anakin – held Padme close in a wordless embrace, sorrowing over the loss of their only son . . ._

"Yes, he did," Esserec said. "He did something worse than killing Padme, worse, even than the destruction of the Jedi. He killed Anakin Skywalker. And he needs to know how wrong he was."

* * *

They were now moving through a dimly-lit ship; small, compact. Lynne saw, through the eyes of the little girl, that they – she - made no noise against the polished metal floor, and cast no shadow.

_Where are we? You said we were going to help Esserec,_ Lynne said. It was frustrating to her that she was locked up inside this girl's head with no control, only a voice, and not even a voice that was audible to anyone else.

_You'll see in a moment. _They came to the end of the hallway, which was blocked by a heavy blast door, and they walked right through it into the harshly-lit cockpit beyond.

Lynne's silent voice gasped. _Esserec!_ She fought to control her legs, to rush to him, to touch him, to clasp him in her arms.

_He's not your Esserec!_ The girl's warning rang through her mind. _He's the reason your Esserec is . . . gone. He's sick, he's very sick. This Esserec never became a Jedi, he never met Anakin or Obi-Wan or . . . you. His latent Force ability has manifested itself, until now, only as vivid dreams. But, Lynne, those dreams are reality for your Esserec and countless other Esserecs in all the alternate universes that stretch beyond imagination. The Force is everywhere, everything, everyone. But this wound that he received, both inwardly and outwardly, have made his mind vulnerable. His mind is no longer traveling into other Esserecs' minds; he has brought all of them back with him._

Lynne returned her gaze to the man who was so exactly like her Esserec, yet so entirely different. _How is that even possible?_ she wondered.

_He's going insane, Lynne,_ the girl said, her gaze as intense on Esserec's pale face. _Eventually, the pressure of the memories inside him will fragment his consciousness into hundreds of pieces._

_What's he doing, then?_ Lynne wondered, frustrated at only being able to watch and do nothing. She wanted to call out his name and smooth away the worry lines on his forehead with her fingers. _Why isn't he trying to stop it?_

Their small hand twitched as if responding to the longing in Lynne's mind. _It's not that simple, Lynne,_ she said quietly. _He doesn't know how to do that. And . . ._ She bit her lower lip. _He doesn't really want to let the memories go._

_He's a bit of an idiot, then,_ Lynne growled. _He doesn't look well – he _must _know something's wrong. _Anger burned within her. She could see, now, the pallor of his skin, the sheen of sweat on his face – the dark shadows hollowing out his eyes. _He's going to die. Am I just supposed to watch this? What did you bring me here for?_ she practically yelled at the other mind. _Is all this supposed to give me perspective on my life, like it's doing for Anakin and Esserec back in my own reality? I can't just sit here and watch this! It's Esserec!_

The girl took in a ragged breath, as if she were on the edge of crying. _I wish I could be you, _she whispered. _So sure about the strength of your love. I'm only thirteen years old! If I tried to . . . give him strength, the way you are strengthened by him, he – he'd laugh at me._ Lynne felt, now, the tears that the girl was blinking back. _Talk to him, Lynne. Tell him what you've just told me, that you're fighting for him. And maybe he'll – he'll not feel so alone._

Lynne realized something, her mind jittery with disbelief. _You love him as much as I do, don't you? Who are you?_

_My name is Rosa'lynne, the little girl replied. And as far as I've been able to determine, I never was good at not loving him._


	14. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I was only going to have two more chapters, but I needed to split it up to keep the continuity. Never fear, I will be updating more often now that I've got the last chapters done.**

**Some shout-outs:**

**Cath: Thanks for reading! I sorta like that last line, too. :)**

**Atlasina7: I will definitely finish it! Just especially for my readers who stay up until 2AM.**

**And for everyone else who reviewed, thank you thank you thank you! Now, on to the next chapter!**

Pain. It ached, deep in Theo's muscles, tore at the bones in his back. Well. He was used to pain. Lived through worse, fought through worse. He knew that this would not kill him. The fact that he could not twitch his legs worried him a little bit, but he resolved to deal with that when he had to.

Theo was more involved with a mental, not a physical, concern. Although he was no longer near the Jedi, Skywalker, the voice had not come back. The other mind, suited to lead as he was only suited to obey, was absent, and this teased at him worse than any wound could.

_Are you there?_ He called into the darkness of his mind. _I need you, I don't know what to do . . ._ All his analytical mind, his training, the plans that had been spun, were whirling around in his mind like so many leaves caught in the wind of a passing ship. He didn't know, couldn't decide. _You have to help me. You promised. I'm going back to Vader, the plan is ruined . . ._ It occurred to him that this, indeed, might be the reason why the other mind remained silent, absent. He writhed helplessly, pain clawing at his back. _No! You can't abandon me! I can't do it alone!_

He struggled for long minutes, agony both mental and physical beating against him. Then he relaxed, panting, wheezing out curses at the unfeeling walls.

* * *

Luke's mind was whirling, around and around and around. Something had gone wrong, that much was obvious. The Force's instructions had been so clear . . . _save the Imperial_ . . . and Rosa, and the man's miraculous recovery – and now, he had put Rogue Squadron, the entire Rebellion, at risk. If Wessere and the assassin had been working together, if they had heard anything, if the Imperial was a Force-user, as Luke suspected . . . the terrible possibilities ran through his mind again and again and again.

He knelt next to the engine block, listening as it strained, racing through hyperspace to Naboo. It was their only hope to get enough fuel to escape in the X-wings, to reach the rendezvous point before the Imperials appeared in space behind them.

And worse still, Tasha was too badly injured to fly. Hobbie's lips had been compressed as he dressed her wound, and applied bacta – he hadn't even been able to say when she'd wake up.

"She lost a lot of blood," he had told Luke, shaking his head.

Luke pushed his fingers through his hair, bending low over the control panel of the engine. He had failed, and badly. He had felt, if only for a few hours, that he was doing the right thing, that Darth Vader being his father didn't matter – but he had been wrong. Now everyone was in danger, and he couldn't even fix it.

Wedge came into the engine room and said Luke's name quietly. "We're about to leave hyperspace."

Luke pushed himself upright, trying to struggle his way back through his crippling sense of failure. "All right. We need to . . . find some place to refuel. Without the Imperials finding us," he added with a sarcastic twist to his lips. "That's going to be easy. A spacewalk without gear."

"Luke . . ." Wedge said.

"Let's face it, Wedge," Luke said dully. "I've killed us, and possibly the entire Rebellion. Leia . . . Ackbar . . . nobody's safe."

"Because some Imperial commander got away?" Wedge shook his head. "He didn't know anything. He was unconscious the whole time."

"How do we know that?" Luke demanded. "We don't know that. He recovered without help from a wound that should have killed him. For all we know, he was conscious, listening to everything we said. He knows too much about us . . . and I practically let him fly away with an assassin who nearly killed Tasha."

"We don't _know_ why he did that, Luke," Wedge said reasonably. "He could have shot you in the back, you said so yourself. Why didn't he just do that? If he wanted to cripple us, why not kill the only Jedi we have?"

"I'm no Jedi," Luke whispered.

In the silence that followed this statement, the engine gave one last groan as it expelled them out of hyperspace into the Naboo system. Wedge straightened and turned to go. Then he paused in the doorway and looked back at Luke's pale, grim face.

"You can't give up, Luke. Not again. Please."

Luke looked up, but Wedge was already gone.

Putting his hand against the nearby bulkhead, Luke lowered his head. The Force surrounded him, at times like a blanket that wrapped softly around him, at other times like a whip that drove him mercilessly onward. Just now he thought he could feel the bite of the whip between his shoulder blades.

_Push on,_ it told him. _Keep going._

_Funny, _he thought ruefully, _how similar the Force sounds to Wedge.

* * *

_

Esserec was sleeping, not very soundly, dreaming in fragments, snatches, whispers. It was not much more restful than being awake.

_. . . you need to rest, Essie . . ._

_a Jedi's strength flows . . ._

_. . . we'll leave in the morning. Can't have . . ._

"Esserec?"

The touch on his shoulder was real, no memory, but it took him a moment to realize this. The voice, light and soft and so familiar, was nothing that he would have expected to hear. He roused himself out of his restless doze and blinked his eyes awake.

She was standing in front of him - a girl of no more than twelve, he would have guessed - garbed in those earth-toned robes all Jedi seemed to favor. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulder in a long braid, and her purple eyes searched his face.

"_Lynne?_" he gasped, pushing himself to his feet, aware that his mouth was hanging open and not much caring.

"No, my name's Rosa," she whispered.

He started towards her. She took a step back and he stopped. "I'm sorry. Rosa. I just – you look like someone I know."

In truth, memories not his own were once again pushing hard against his mind. He saw this girl again, her face intense, hand out to pull a stubborn training remote closer so that she could disarm it with her lightsaber. He saw her standing beside a man with calm blue eyes and a reddish-brown beard, her hands folded solemnly, but her face twisted into a truly horrific expression, trying to make him laugh as he stood in a similar fashion next to his own Master. He saw her pick a purple flower from a windowbox and hand it to him, then blush and run away.

The memories came, a flood of them, so many that his mind seemed to explode outward to try and contain them. A tsunami—

_color_

_sight  
_

_sound  
_

_laughter_

_anger_

_light_

_darkness_

_purple eyes_

_red lightsabers_

"Essie?" the voice choked on a sob, and he came to himself. It felt like dragging himself out of a raging river onto a precarious overhanging tree limb, and he still could only faintly see the girl looking down into his face, and then he realized that he must have fallen to the floor.

"I'm sorry, sweetling," he mumbled. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me." He blinked, trying to clear the mist out of them. "But why are you so young? Are we children again, then?"

She shook her head, gulping on tears, and she didn't even look embarrassed. Usually she wouldn't let anyone see her cry – she'd mutter about her nose and run off, and pity the person who tried to follow. He smiled that he knew this. "I died, Essie," she whispered. "I was a Padawan when they cleared the Temple. The clones, they came in through the gate with . . . Anakin. He found me in my room, I had only just woken up. Master Obi-wan, he, he had fitted my room with sound dampers, so I could sleep better. I still had nightmares about the Krrilist mission.

"And Anakin came in, he was my brother, Essie. His eyes were yellow, and he had blood . . . oh, Force, he had blood all over him. I could _see_ the blood. Lightsaber wounds don't bleed. I didn't even know it was him until I was already dead. I thought it was another nightmare, I watched myself die." Her hand swept across her torso, seemingly unconsciously, mimicking the arc of a blade.

"It was him?" Esserec drew in a steadying breath as he watched her hand. "Him, again. I never dared hope that I would find you . . . but _dead_ . . . and Skywalker, again . . ." Rage pounded in his temples, and the memories that surrounded him like clouds became dark, tinged with red eyes and anger. The tidal wave became a whirlwind, dragging him to dizzying heights of pain and rage. _So much pain. So much . . ._

In every life, it seemed, he saw her fall, eyes dimmed, dead from a blaster bolt, a stab, a blast of blue lightning . . . _Lynn . . ._

Her hand touched his, just for a moment, before she drew away in embarrassment or fear. Her voice whispered, "Don't, Esserec. Don't give into the darkness. You have so much more you can give . . ."

As if her words had summoned it, the memory came, the power spreading outward from his hands, the hole in her chest knitting together. _I saved her . . ._

_Not this time._

He spoke, his voice thick with pain. "I want to go home, Lynn. I want to smell the flowers again, I want to hear the waterfalls and bathe in the sunlight."

"Then you have to get up, Essie," she said, her voice drawing him out of the whirlwind. "You have to fly this ship home."

* * *

Vader had gone to his chamber again, but not to sleep. He was seriously considering never sleeping again. He was not there to remember; remembering hurt too much. He thought about practicing with his lightsaber, but all he could see, when he ignited his blade, was Luke's agonized face when he realized the truth.

_I am your father._

_I was a fool to tell him. A pitiful, hopeful fool._ He grunted at himself, then threw his lightsaber savagely across the room. _My Master was right. The boy must be turned, broken, brought to the Dark Side. Only then will this . . . weakness . . . this idiocy of mine be resolved. All love is smoke. Only hatred remains._


	15. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Thanks for your patience Enjoy!**

Esserec pushed a button and watched a timer tick down to zero. Starlines appeared on his viewport, then settled into stars – familiar stars. Below him, glowing gently golden under the light of her sun was Naboo. And there – he bit back an insane-sounding laugh. There was the _Executor._

He had planned to lie low on Naboo for a few weeks, wait for the dust to settle, get whatever he could out of Theo. Clearly, the Force had other ideas.

He choked as a swirl of memory caught him.

_. . . moon, far overhead, lurking . . . on some planets, the moons were unfriendly, the air seemed poisonous . . ._

He shook it off firmly. No. Soon he wouldn't be able to tell which of the memories were his, and which belonged to some other Esserec. Soon, he knew, he wouldn't be able to tell figment from reality.

Best to get this over with, and the Force knew he'd never have a better opportunity. So he thumbed the comm and began to speak.

* * *

"Luke."

Luke raised his head sharply at the tension in Tycho's voice. The blond pilot was sitting stock-still at the control panel, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides.

"What is it?" Wedge hurried over to the viewscreen and looked at the readout. He bit out a curse and threw over his shoulder at Luke: "Looks like you were right. About the Imperial. The _Executor_just arrived. She's in orbit over Naboo right now."

Luke let out a breath. In a way, this development was almost a relief.

"How did they find us?" Janson demanded, his face as white as a sheet. Tycho darted a glance over at Luke, but said nothing.

"It doesn't matter," Wedge said roughly. "We're about to land - if we can find the local resistance, we can blend in . . ."

_Ben, you never told me it would be like this. Being . . . hunted. Like a dewback running from a krayt dragon._

Unbidden, the old Jedi Master's voice filled his mind. _Use the Force, Luke . . . trust your instincts._

_Trust my instincts?_ Bile rose in Luke's throat; he swallowed angrily. _So far, they've gotten me hunted by Vader, tricked by an Imperial officer, and trapped on Naboo. I need something _else_, Ben. Something . . ._

_Think, Luke. _Think. _Sometimes, the blast shield _has_ to be down._

_Blast shield?_ Luke's mind flashed backward, into the past. He remembered the lightsaber, vibrating gently in his hand - he remembered the training droid, humming - he remembered Han saying in that sarcastic voice of his, _"Where I come from, we call that 'luck.'"_

Then he remembered Ben answering, _"In my experience, there's no such thing as luck."_

_Everything that happens is the will of the Force._

Luke stood. Janson and Tycho, who had been arguing, fell silent, staring at him. Wedge, who was leaning against the wall, straightened. Luke then noticed that all of the other Rogues had gathered in the cockpit, even Tasha, her face drawn and pale.

"You need to rest, Tasha," he told her gently. "Tycho, take us down to the surface. The rest of you, get ready to refuel."

* * *

The _Executor_hung over Naboo. Vader stood on the bridge, hands tucked behind his back, and stared down at the verdant planet below them.

He was feeling fairly emotionless at the moment. Any feelings stirred by the sight of the planet below him were crushed mercilessly.

_Love is for the weak. A Sith cannot afford to be weak._

"Sir," Admiral Piett came up diffidently behind him. "A nearby fighter has hailed us. It's Commander Wessere."

Hatred welled up inside Vader. _Wessere._This was all his fault. He had reminded Vader of the past . . . Vader had told Lieutenant Theo to kill the young commander, but Vader was glad that Theo had failed. He would take great pleasure in killing the boy himself.

"Let him board. And bring him to my quarters."

Vader turned, his cloak swirling around him. He clenched his gloved fists until the leather squeaked and the metal protested. His footsteps rattled against the floor, reminding him at every step that his legs were no longer flesh and blood, that he was not whole, that one day his supposed best friend, his Master, Obi-wan, had taken the higher ground and sheared off Vader's legs at the knee. Left him to burn nearly to death in a pit of lava. And left him like that. Jedi were supposed to be merciful.

_But Sith show no mercy. And I will never forget it again._

* * *

The last time that Esserec had approached the _Executor_, his stomach had been churning with nerves and his head had been dizzy with fear. This time, his hands were steady as he stood, straightened the bottom edge of his tunic, and turned.

_. . . the Council was waiting for him, and he stepped noiselessly on the polished floor . . ._

_. . . the Dark Jedi ignited his 'saber, his lip curling with impatience, but a Jedi never showed fear . . ._

_. . . her hand slipped into his, soft as shimmersilk and firm as transparasteel . . ._

She was standing there, as he had hoped and feared. His eyes searched her face, looking for a hint of the woman he had known and loved in so many lifetimes. Her strange purple eyes met his gaze and returned it fiercely.

The problem wasn't that this girl was unfamiliar and strange. The problem was that she was _too_ familiar, _too_comfortable. He wanted to say so much . . . but he couldn't.

Rosa opened her mouth, hesitated, then spoke in a rush. "Essie . . . Esserec . . . I'm not going to ask you not to do this."

She was still trying to protect her "brother." Esserec frowned. "After all he's done . . ."

"And you think that allowing him to kill you will do . . . what?" She frowned in return, then lifted her hands placatingly. "I'm sorry. She's far too used to arguing with you. I mean, I am. What I meant to say was, you're not alone."

He tapped his skull. "You think I forgot?"

"You may not be a Jedi, Esserec, but many of those others are . . . and . . . Essie." She took a step closer. He schooled himself against backing into the ship's console behind him. Her focused face always had that effect on him. "I already told you, I'm not going to try to talk you out of this. I already know I can't – you're wearing your stubborn expression. But you should know . . . I'll be with you. Too." She reddened. "In an advisory capacity, I mean. I can't do anything."

"Oh." He wanted to tell her how much that knowledge meant to him. To have _her,_there, real, not just somebody else's memory . . . "Thank you."

"You're . . . welcome." She was still pink as she vanished.

Even though he could no longer see her, he could still feel that gaze on him, that focus. It made his step just a little bit firmer as he went out to greet the stormtroopers.

* * *

Vader entered his quarters and removed his helmet. The air was cold against his face, cold inside his lungs. He tasted dust, metals in the air that the purifiers in his helmet rebreather usually removed.

Esserec was not long in coming. A troop of stormtroopers surrounded him, and binders held his hands fast in front of him. Behind him, on a hover-gurney, was the prone body of a man with dark hair. The leader of the stormtroopers approached Vader diffidently.

"_There was no one else aboard the fighter, my Lord."_

Vader studied Wessere's calm face. Strangely, he couldn't seem to get a strong grip on the young man's thoughts. "Leave us," he told the stormtroopers shortly. They left in a confusion of clicking boots. The door _shizzed_closed, and silence fell.

"You found yourself a prisoner, I see," Vader said quietly.

Wessere spoke softly as well. "I'm good at sniffing out assassins. Practice."

Vader's lip twitched. "So you found out my plan, did you? Tell me, what did you do with Theo? My men couldn't locate him."

Wessere nodded towards the man on the gurney. "I did a better job disabling him than he did for me. He'll recover . . . eventually."

Vader took a closer look at the unconscious man–and froze. His breath rasped in his throat, but he took no notice of the pain. "I–impossible. Theo is not a clone."

Wessere frowned. "A clone? Are you sure?"

Vader ignored this idiocy. Of course he was sure. That was Jango Fett's face, albeit pale and sweaty, tortured with lines and sweat. "Not that it matters. I had thought all of the old clones dead." _How did I not notice? Clones have altered minds. Unless . . ._"They must have raised a few without age acceleration."

"He looks only a few years older then Jedi Skywalker."

Vader turned his head slowly to look at the young commander, but Wessere was staring straight ahead. "You hope to anger me?" Vader hissed. "I've more information that I need from you first. How did you disable the Star Destroyers so easily?"

"What?" Wessere looked genuinely confused. "I don't know what you mean." But there was a tension in his neck, in his clasped hands, that spoke of something hidden. Vader sent a probing thought towards the younger man, and found himself soundly rebuffed.

_How? You are proving yourself very interesting, nephew. Nephew? Why did I think that?_ Vader shook off his thoughts impatiently. _I can't let this continue for too long._


End file.
